


Still Intact, I See!

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kink meme prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/6614.html?thread=23333334#t23333334</p>
<p>On their expedition into the Deep Roads, Hawke and company stumble across a lost and forgotten Grey Warden who will change their lives, and the lives of all mages in Thedas forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a strange one, not going to lie. But it's also one I had a lot of fun writing. Hope you guys enjoy it.

He should have stayed in Kirkwall.

Hawke grew up begging his father to tell him stories of adventures, learning how to wield a sword and shield with finesse. He loved to hear tales of dashing heroes and fierce heroines, brave men and women fighting for the freedom of their country or saving damsels in distress. He also enjoyed stories of sweeping love and romance, pleading with his mother to tell him yet again about how she'd fallen in love with his father, and of their elopement. And when the chance came to join the army, to earn a steady pay for his family, to maybe get a tenth of that glory, he leapt at it. Carver had too, eager to prove his worth. Unfortunately that ended up being his downfall.

He pushed the thought of his brother from his mind, gripping his broadsword tightly. Stories were for children. This was reality. His mother had worried when they decided to take the trip to the Deep Roads, and her worries were turning out to be extremely justified. Not that she could have predicted Bartrand's betrayal. Varric, leading the way, looking at the maps, was still grumbling about it. Their packs laden with treasures worth who knew what, Hawke would be glad if they could just make it to the surface without running into another troupe of darkspawn. The last had all but exhausted their supplies of potions, and Bethany could only heal so many wounds. It was never her forte, but Hawke was glad he brought her along. Without her, he was fairly sure he would've bled out fighting that rock wraith thing.

"How much longer til the surface?"

"About three hours less than the last time you asked," Varric said, with a slight snippiness to his tone. He sighed. "Maybe we should take a break. The tunnels are all starting to look the same."

Hawke looked back to Bethany and Merrill who'd been following behind, the tips of their staves bright enough to light the paths in front of them. He didn't mind fighting darkspawn, had done it both at Ostagar and Lothering. They were monstrous, disgusting things, but no more so than the giant spiders they fought in the caves along the coast. Their armor was poor and shoddy in comparison to his own, and that was saying something considering his own was cheap. Cheap, but not poorly made, at least. And his blade was army standard aurum and he'd had it enchanted by that dwarven kid to make it lighter, quicker. Worth every copper he paid, too.

"How are you two doing?" Hawke asked.

"Bethany's a little tired," Merrill piped up.

Bethany shushed her. "I'm fine, brother! Let's just keep moving. The quicker we move, the quicker we can go home and tell mother we're fine."

He did worry about leaving their mother alone with just Gamlen, but his mabari was guard enough to keep the Coterie or anyone else who might come knocking at bay.

"If you're tired, we can set camp," Hawke said, though he knew how important it was that they continue on. They were running out of supplies quickly, and with how far down they had traveled, he doubted they'd find a clean water source.

"No," Bethany said resolutely. "We keep going."

"I'm not carrying you if you drop from exhaustion," Hawke said, though it was an empty threat. They both knew that he would drag all three of them out of there on his back if he had to. He had the endurance and fortitude to do it, but only if he was supplied.

"I'm fine," Bethany insisted.

They fell silent again as Varric navigated. The roads twisted and turned and inclined at one point. Hawke would be thrilled just to see actual daylight again. He never realized how much he craved it until he was deprived.

"Varric, haven't we seen that sign before? Are we lost?"

"Lost?" Merrill asked. "Perhaps we should've taken the twine…"

Varric crumpled up the map and tossed down his pack, more irritated and angry than Hawke had ever seen him before. Usually the dwarf was the most laid back of the party, making jokes and putting them at ease. That he was this frustrated was making Hawke worry. But it was his sister and Merrill that he was more worried for. Bethany took a step forward, then another, and Hawke turned in time to catch her before she fell.

"Bethany!"

She was pale, much paler than a simple trip down to the Deep Roads should've made her. He started to panic, kneeling down, cradling her in his arms, smoothing her hair.

"Bethany, what's wrong?"

"I'm… fine. Just tired…"

Merrill knelt down, digging through her pack for herbs. Varric frowned, watching from just behind them.

"You don't look so good," Hawke said.

"You say the sweetest things to me, big brother," Bethany joked lightly.

Merrill mixed a potion, crushing herbs and pouring a bit of water into the bowl to liquefy it. "Here, try this," she said. "It's a little bitter, but it'll help with any pain."

Hawke took the bowl from her, holding it to Bethany's lips, watching her swallow. She winced, but choked it all down. The grey pallor of her skin reminded him of… No. No, it couldn't be.

Almost as if Bethany was reading his thoughts, she smiled up at him. "It's just like Wesley, isn't it? I'm going to die."

"Don't say that, Sunshine," Varric said quietly. "We'll get you out of here."

But Hawke wasn't sure, and the look on Varric's face told him he felt similarly. Bethany shook her head.

"I can feel it," she wheezed.

 _Maker,_ Hawke thought. How fast did the corruption move? One second she seemed fine, and the next it was almost as if it had taken her entirely.

"Take care of Mother," she said.

"Bethany, no. Don't talk like that," he said, cupping her cheek. Her hand felt cold and brittle on his, so small in comparison. "You'll be fine."

"We're miles from nowhere," Merrill said, her own delicate hands coming up to cover her mouth. Her eyes were wide and glassy, full of tears.

"Garrett, please," Bethany begged. "Don't let it take me. Do what Aveline did for her husband." She coughed, a pained, breathy sound.

Hawke frowned when she withdrew the slim dagger she kept by her side for when using magic was too dangerous. He looked at it in his hand, frowning, a painful twisting feeling in his chest. He couldn't do this. But nor could he ask the other two. And if Bethany fell to this she would be a monster, a mindless darkspawn wandering the roads forever. He couldn't condemn his baby sister to that. He thought of his father, of Carver. Losing two of his family in such a short span of time, and now this. And what would he tell his mother?

"I love you, Bethany."

She smiled weakly.

"What are you doing?"

They turned quickly, Merrill standing, staff in hand, Varric with Bianca drawn. It was a man. Hawke frowned, looking at him. Long, dingy and dirty hair, a scruffy tangled beard, he wore mage robes that at one point seemed to have been dark blue and silver, the leather gloves rotted. He carried in his arms what looked like a tabby cat, with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. And on his back, a staff of twisted metal fashioned into two serpents coiled around one another, mouths open and about to strike.

"Who are you?" Hawke asked, pulling Bethany toward him in an attempt to shield her if this man tried to hurt them.

"Well that's a bit rude, considering you're in MY living room. Isn't that right, Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

The man lifted the cat up, holding it in front of his face, and in a high-pitched voice that was obviously supposed to be the cat's, he said, "That's right, it is! They're in OUR home!"

Hawke's jaw dropped. He looked at Varric, who glanced down at him, eyebrows raised, his expression nothing short of bewildered.

"We're very sorry," Merrill said. "Our friend is sick."

"It's the taint," the 'cat' said.

"Yes, yes it is Ser Pounce-a-lot," the man answered.

"We can help!" came the high-pitched voice.

"We could, yes. We could remove the taint. But it's painful. So painful, isn't it? And they were rude. Hm. Should we help anyway, do you think, Ser Pounce-a-lot? It's the right thing to do, even if they are intruding into our home."

"We'd be ever so grateful!" Merrill said, the only person who seemed completely unaffected by the stranger's wild appearance or his odd behavior. "Even if it hurts, it's better than what would happen, right?"

The man approached slowly, inhaled, and recoiled. "Blood magic! We can smell it on you! Ser Pounce-a-lot! ATTACK!"

He threw the cat at Merrill, and Hawke, who was holding Bethany, couldn't get to her defense in time. But Ser Pounce-a-lot landed a foot in front of her, then approached slowly, sniffing the air. Merrill cocked her head to the side, knelt down, reached out, and petted the orange, slightly matted fur.

Hawke looked up at the man, who was pouting.

"Stupid thing. Never attacks when I need him to. Well," he said. "I suppose if Ser Pounce-a-lot thinks you're all right, then you're all right. Do you want a mushroom?"

"A mushroom?" Merrill asked.

"Mm. They're delicious."

Hawke watched him approach, recoiling a bit. The smell coming from him was rather earthy: dirt and sweat. He supposed the Deep Roads didn't afford many bathing opportunities. The man pulled out a bunch of mushrooms and dumped them into Merrill's cupped hands.

"Already washed and cooked and seasoned."

"Merrill, I think-" Varric started, but Merrill was already eating them.

The man knelt down and Hawke saw the scars on his face beneath the tangle of beard, his wild amber colored eyes with large, dilated pupils. He'd only ever seen a man with pupils that wide once, back in Lothering when his friend had taken some odd drug a passing salesman had brought from Orlais. This man seemed in full control of his faculties though, or at least not high off some random narcotic.

"Now," the man said, "should I cure the pretty lady or did you want to go ahead and stick the knife in her? I do like her shoes. So if you want to kill her, I call dibs."

Hawke gaped, looking to Varric, who shrugged.

"Uh. I don't…"

Bethany coughed. "Garrett. It can't be worse than what's already going to happen. Please," she said to the stranger. "Please try. We'll pay you. We have money."

The man scoffed. "Don't need payment. Never take payment. Darkspawn don't have shops, pretty lady. What's your name?"

"Bethany," she managed.

"All right then. Ser Pounce-a-lot!"

The cat actually came.

"Fetch the green bag, please," he said, scratching him between the ears.

Ser Pounce-a-lot licked his fingers and then ran off. The man turned back to Bethany and grinned widely.

"Let's get you healed."


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke had not often watched his father heal their wounds. Malcolm preferred letting scrapes and cuts heal naturally. Only if something was life-threatening – and it nearly never was – did he use healing magic. He had been very guarded about it, not using it any more than he had to. Hawke could hear him now.

_"My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base."_

To anyone they were just a normal, hardworking family that owned a little farm outside Lothering. Malcolm taught Bethany how to hide her magic and he entrusted Hawke with her safety. For that reason, Hawke learned several templar abilities, including how to cleanse and silence. He and Bethany worked on ways for her to throw off the silence if necessary, and Hawke learned how to cloak her magic should actual templars come to call. Carver had been left out, a fact which he harped on about constantly. Hawke tried to spar with him as often as he could, but being much taller, broader, and stronger, the fighting was usually never fair.

Now, Hawke wished his father had taught Bethany more. Taught _him_ more. Maybe she could have learned how to heal herself instead of having to trust this strange man who was hovering over her, palms alight with a bright blue glow. Ser Pounce-a-lot was curled up next to him, asleep it looked like. But he had fetched the green bag, which Hawke thought was extremely odd. He'd seen mabari and other dogs manage commands, both simple and complicated. The ones trained for war were especially intelligent. Though his interactions with cats had been limited, he'd never known one to actually follow an order.

"Usually," the man said, as casually as if he was simply having them for tea, "the only cure for the infection is to become a Grey Warden. Oho, but we don't want that, do we, Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

For one wild second, Hawke thought the man was going to stop healing Bethany so he could pick up the cat and pretend to speak through him again. He didn't though, and instead pressed his palms to her back. She was lying on her stomach on a bedroll, clutching tightly to a balled up blanket. She cried out, and Hawke took her hand, smoothing her hair back.

"It's okay, Bethany, I'm here," he whispered.

"Hurts," she hissed, through gritted teeth.

"Of course it hurts," the man snapped, "your blood's all tainted with… with taint!"

Hawke glared at him. "Don't yell at my sister."

"Hmph. Rude, rude and rude again."

"He didn't mean it," Merrill said soothingly. "He's just worried about his sister. Family is important."

"Until you get lost in the Deep Roads and they leave you forever," the man said solemnly.

"Isn't that the truth?" Varric muttered.

"What are you doing?" Hawke asked, watching.

The man hummed, almost as if he didn't hear Hawke. "Take the blood, clean the blood, cycle it back into the body. Take the blood, boil the blood, remove the impurities."

"Blood magic?" Merrill ventured.

The man sneered. "No. No you silly elf, not blood magic. You're Dalish, aren't you? In my experience, all Dalish women are crazy and you, madam, are certainly no exception. Blood magic. Blood magic, peh. Giving all mages a bad name like we don't already have that. Templars running around, pushing mages into a corner, wanting demons to get them so they have an excuse. Oh and then when they do, when they do," he chuckled darkly, "when they do that's when they call it mercy. Annul the tower, yes. All my friends in one stroke. And people call her the Hero of Ferelden, that Dalish woman. The Warden, the Warden Commander. Oh but she liked me because I kept quiet. Or I did until I couldn't take it anymore and then and then and then she left me in the Deep Roads, wanted me to die. Probably thought I'd go crazy, but we showed her, didn't we, Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

Hawke realized the man didn't need to pick up the cat. His voice jumped a few octaves though his hands still moved along Bethany's back, apparently boiling her blood or whatever magic he was doing to cure the impurities.

"Yes," he intoned in the cat's voice. "She left us to die, but we showed her!"

"Best thing she ever did for me was give me Ser Pounce-a-lot. Probably thought a gift would keep me in line. She was always giving gifts. Giving gifts to me and Nathaniel, but she didn't care about us. She just needed our skills."

He descended into bitter mutters, none of which were very coherent, and Hawke again looked to Varric, who was frowning, looking determinedly at the maps of the Deep Roads and trying not to listen. Merrill on the other hand, knelt across from him on Bethany's other side, listening with rapt attention.

"She left you down here to die?" she asked, voice full of concern. "I… I knew her, though. She wouldn't… She was a good person," she insisted. "I never heard… That's horrible! Why would she do that?"

He looked up at her suddenly. "What's your name?"

"Merrill," she supplied easily.

He seemed to turn this over in his mind. "You knew… you knew the Commander?"

Merrill nodded. "She was part of my clan before… A terrible thing happened and she had to leave. She became ill."

"The taint," he hissed, gnashing his teeth. "It eats your brain. You hear them. The darkspawn, like insects buzzing in your brain, buzzing in your blood. You feel them and it makes your skin crawl." He shuddered. "But we fixed it, didn't we, Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

Hawke was starting to realize that the man deferred to his cat likely as a coping mechanism. "How long have you been down here?"

The man frowned behind his wiry beard. "Three hundred seventy-eight cycles."

"Days?" Hawke guessed.

"No! No days in the Deep of the Deep Roads. No sunlight or moonlight. Just darkspawn and rats and mushrooms."

"That's over a year," Hawke said quietly. If it was true, there was no wonder why the man was acting so strangely. "Why didn't you leave?"

"Why don't you?" he shot back. "Shut up. I need to concentrate."

Hawke fell silent, not sure if the man was telling him the truth or if he just didn't want to talk about it. Not that he could blame him. The man didn't seem dangerous, not really. Crazy, definitely. And he was a Grey Warden. A Warden who knew the Hero of Ferelden. But it didn't make sense. Hawke knew the story well, even had Varric retell it a few times in case there was something that was left out. He compared it to the other stories he'd heard from passing travelers, other refugees, and the few scant letters he'd received from the acquaintances they'd made in Lothering. None of them talked about a Circle Annulment, though. He wondered if this man's word could be trusted.

Nearly three hours they sat as he healed Bethany, Hawke holding her hands, stroking her hair, whispering soothing words. Merrill gave her the last of the elfroot potions to ease the pain. Finally Anders sat back, opened his pack, and pulled out a rather large mushroom. He chomped down on a piece, giving Ser Pounce-a-lot a disdainful look as the cat got up and stretched and wandered close, then started pawing at him.

"You're going to get fat," he said, but dropped his hand so the cat could sniff and nibble.

"Is she going to be okay?" Hawke asked, watching Bethany drop off to sleep.

"Time will tell but it beats a blade in the ribs. Not that I would know. I've only ever taken one to the back. Haha! That's a betrayal joke. Get it?"

Hawke got it. He also bristled at the sarcasm. Betrayal, he understood. He wanted to feel bad for this man, but he wanted to know why he was left down here. Did the Hero of Ferelden often make a habit of leaving her companions to die? He remembered Isabela in the Hanged Man, commenting on the drunkard who'd taken up a spot in the corner to weep about how he was the rightful king of Ferelden. No one really believed him, but there were speculations on who he might have been. Alistair Theirin, the other Grey Warden who assisted in killing the archdemon.

"What do we call you?" Hawke asked.

The man blinked. "A name?" He looked at Ser Pounce-a-lot, who had rolled over to lick his other leg. "You're no help," he scowled. "A name. A name. I was… Hum…"

A tangle of syllables spilled from his lips, and Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"But you can call me Anders."

"Oh," Hawke said, frowning. "From the Anderfels."

"Yes! See, I had shown my magical prowess. I didn't mean to burn down that barn, you know. I did, however, mean to cook those templars in their armor. But don't tell anyone that. They were bringing me back to the Tower."

Hawke's head was spinning with the information. This man – Anders – was an apostate. Not that Hawke was against apostasy. His own father was one, and Bethany. Merrill now. He never held with the Chantry's views. Mages needed to be taught, to be trained, but the way Malcolm talked about the Circle it was more a prison than a school. The Circle wasn't the necessity that the Chantry claimed it to be. After all, Bethany at one point experienced terrible dreams, demons that tempted her, but she was strong enough to resist, and their father had taught her how to stay safe.

"And you… live down here?" Hawke asked carefully. "After the Warden left you?"

Anders' lip curled under his beard. "The Warden. Everyone calls her that like she's the only one. I was a Warden once too! Where's my trophy? Not that I need one. I'm not a Warden anymore. That part's done now. Found a way to kill the taint and we're free men. Well, free man and a free cat, isn't that right Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

Hawke felt the beginnings of a headache just behind his eyes. Talking to Anders was… trying. But he owed the man his sister's life. Bethany was sleeping now, her breathing slow and even. He carefully brushed her hair off her shoulder, stroking gently, comfortingly. Though it was more for his benefit than hers. He'd almost lost her.

"Yes," said Anders. "Yes we live here now. This is our home. Darkspawn are nicer than templars. They just want to kill you or maybe turn you into them. Templars want to put you in the Circle and pretend it's for your own good. No. We're better off here."

Merrill looked at Hawke, and he could see her heart breaking for Anders. He glanced to Varric, who was scribbling in a book. Frowning, Hawke looked back to Anders.

"You could come with us. Back to the surface. To Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall?" Anders asked, perking up a bit. "I know that city. I know it. Nathaniel went there to squire." He frowned, shoulders hunched once more. "If Nathaniel knew what happened… but no, he would've come looking for us, wouldn't he have, Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

"Yes!" Anders replied in the cat's voice. "Yes, Nathaniel is our friend! I bet the Warden told him we died! Or maybe tied him up so he couldn't come after us!"

Anders nodded, accepting that answer. "But… there's another. A man. A teacher we had in the Circle. Before Ser Pounce-a-lot." He leaned in conspiratorially to whisper to Hawke. "I had another cat named Mr. Wiggums, but Ser Pounce-a-lot gets jealous so we won't talk about him, okay?"

Hawke nodded, agreeing, because he was apparently supposed to.

"Good!" Anders whispered loudly before sitting back. "Karl. That's his name. Karl was a good, good man. And they rehoused him in Kirkwall right before the Annulment of the Circle. So. So I would like to see him."

Hawke scratched at his beard, frowning. Getting Anders out of the Deep Roads was one thing. Getting him into the Gallows to see a friend without dooming him to becoming a Circle mage? That was something else entirely.

"It might take some doing," Hawke said.

"Hawke," Varric said warningly, and he finally looked up, eyes widening a bit.

"Varric, we owe him. _I_ owe him," Hawke amended. "If Bethany died… If I had to…" He shook his head, then looked at Anders. "I'll do my best, but it'll take time once we get back."

Anders tipped his head from shoulder to shoulder, as if the idea was literally rolling around in his brain. Finally he looked at him. "All right. After we sleep, after we eat, I'll show you the way and we can go to sunny Kirkwall."

Hawke settled down on the bedroll next to Bethany. If Anders decided to kill them all in their sleep, well. It would be a quicker death than the taint or starvation or anything else the Deep Roads would have to offer.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders did not kill them in their sleep. In fact, he had a nice fire going and was stirring something in a large, crude iron pot that looked like it was fashioned from an old helmet. Hawke's stomach rumbled loudly as he woke to the scent. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. Beside him, Bethany was stirring. The color had come back to her face and when she opened her eyes, they were her normal brown, not the cloudy grey they appeared to be yesterday. Hawke reached over to cup her cheek.

"Bethany?"

She touched his hand. "I feel… much better."

"Of course you do," Anders snapped. "What do you think I am? Some purveyor of hensbane and leeches? I'm a spirit healer. That's what we do."

"No offense, messere," Bethany said, sitting up with some help from Hawke.

Anders scoffed. "Messere. Manners. From a fellow mage. You should teach your brother those manners. He's just a brute."

Bethany grinned tiredly. "He's a bit uncultured."

Hawke thought this conversation was a bit unfair, considering their gracious host had been down here for a year and was as rude as could be when he spoke to them. Still, he said nothing. Bethany's life meant more to him than correcting a slight against his own character.

Varric and Merrill woke soon after, and Anders spooned them out bowls of stew. Merrill tucked in almost at once, Bethany sniffing delicately before eating as well. Hawke and Varric stirred theirs warily. Hawke saw nothing out of the ordinary. Chunks of meat, broth, mushrooms.

"What's in this?" Hawke asked curiously. "Is it rat?"

Bethany dropped her spoon into the bowl. "Honestly, Garrett! So what if it is? It tastes better than those ration bars we've been eating."

"Deepstalker," Anders replied.

Varric raised an eyebrow. "They don't have much meat on them."

"On the contrary," Anders said, licking his spoon before tipping the bowl to his lips. He sipped, slurping at the broth. When he pulled it away, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smear of broth in his beard. "You can eat every part of them except the nutsack. It's kind of gross."

Merrill giggled into her hand. Hawke exchanged yet another look with Varric.

"Too salty," Anders supplied. "But it does make a nice seasoning for the stew overall."

Hawke carefully put his bowl down. Varric was looking even more dubiously at his own.

"You gonna eat that?" Anders asked, pointing at Hawke's bowl.

"Uh. No. I'm not very hungry," Hawke said carefully. "But it smells delicious," he added.

"Go on, Pounce!" Anders said, nudging the cat.

Ser Pounce-a-lot approached, sniffed, and started eating from Hawke's bowl. Hawke watched him for a moment before looking back up at Anders.

"When do we leave?"

"I packed last night," Anders said. "Got all the important things we'll need. Soon as we're done eating we can go. It'll be sad to leave. I really liked my living room."

Hawke glanced around in the light of the fire and the three staves. It didn't look like a living room to him. He supposed the one rock formation by the wall could have been a poor facsimile of a couch or a chair. There were three bags surrounding Anders, and Hawke wondered what exactly was in them. If they got to Gamlen's house in Lowtown and Anders opened one to reveal a… a bug collection or something, how would he explain that? Then again, how could explain Anders' appearance over all? The man needed a bath. And a shave. And new clothing.

Again though, a small price to pay for Bethany's life and a way out of the Deep Roads.

"What made you decide to stay here?" Bethany asked, almost as if reading Hawke's mind. "If you could have come back to the surface, if you knew a way out?"

Anders frowned. "You tell me, pretty mage. Templars knock at your door yet?"

Bethany looked down, pushing her spoon through the broth. "Not yet. Not here in Kirkwall. But we had… friends who helped keep them away."

She was thinking of Athenril. The smuggler had been very keen on both Hawke and Bethany staying on, sending letters for extra jobs for actual paid work. Hawke was loath to take her up on it. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life moving lyrium. This expedition was supposed to change their fortune. Now they needed to make it to the surface before Bartrand and hire excavators to collect the rest of the treasures they had to leave behind in the thaig. Hawke certainly wasn't going to return to the Deep Roads ever again.

"The best way to keep templars away is to put the heads of the previous ones on spikes," Anders mused. "And put them outside your door. Like Wintersend decorations. But more festive, I think."

"They'd start to rot," Merrill said casually, as if they really were talking about Wintersend decorations.

Anders scowled. "Well of course you'd need to replace them every few weeks! That's okay though; the Chantry just keeps making more templars every day anyway. Plenty to go around. I'll help you decorate _your_ house. Just so long as you don't use your blood magic. I hate that."

"You're so sweet!"

Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. He felt a tapping on his arm and looked down. Ser Pounce-a-lot was batting at his elbow. He frowned, lifted his hand automatically to pet him, and was rewarded with a lapful of cat. He turned three times in Hawke's lap and settled down, purring loudly. Hawke looked at Anders, who was frowning.

"No accounting for taste," Anders said, somewhat bitterly. "Unless you have him under a spell. Did you spell magic my cat into liking you?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"I'm not a mage," Hawke said quickly, hoping he wasn't going to inadvertently offend the crazy man. He still wasn't sure what Anders was capable of. How had he managed to survive down here for over a year alone?

"Hmph. You couldn't handle it anyway. Magic is too delicate in the hands of a barbarian like you."

Hawke looked this time to Bethany, who was giggling. She and Merrill seemed to think Anders was a riot. A sweet, harmless, hermit of a man who healed their ills and made them balls soup and spoke to his cat like it was a child and pretended it could talk back to him. How dangerous, really, was Anders? Was it smart to trust him? Still, there was something about him. His mood swings were great, but his anger seemed to be rightfully on templars and the Warden who'd left him here to rot. To him, their little group was no more deserving of his agitation than any other random thing that appeared in the Deep Roads.

"When we get to the surface," Hawke said, carefully petting Ser Pounce-a-lot, who purred even louder at that, "we'll bring you to my uncle's house. I have some clothes that might fit you." Though he could tell, even looking at the misshapen robes Anders was clad in that while he was tall, he wasn't nearly as broad as himself.

"You want to use me as your doll?" Anders asked, head tilted. "To play dress up? I suppose I've heard weirder kinks. But I refuse a collar."

Varric snorted. "You brought this on yourself, Hawke."

"No," Hawke ground out. "Not like… Just as a favor. Since you're going to be living in Kirkwall. You can't… you can't look like…"

Bethany touched Hawke's hand, taking pity. "What my brother means is that since you have a unique way of dressing and an appearance that will certainly alert the templars, we're going to disguise you a bit, if that's all right."

Anders considered this. "You should speak more for your brother. He's very bad at it."

Hawke sighed even as Bethany giggled.

"Well," Anders said, tossing the bowl aside, the clattering sound disturbing Ser Pounce-a-lot in Hawke's lap. "Let's go, I guess."

Hawke stood as the cat left his lap, taking up both his and Bethany's pack. He pulled her up gently by the arm and she leaned on him and her staff, Merrill on her other side. Anders scooped up Ser Pounce-a-lot and tucked him in the front of his robes. Tapping his staff to the ground, increasing the light at the tip, he led the way out and up, back to the surface.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun had never felt better. Hawke turned his face up toward it, eyes closed. They all stood for a moment in the forest clearing, breathing in the fresh air, enjoying the cool breeze as it passed over them. Anders knocked into Hawke, hand up to shield his eyes from the light.

"Maker's balls, it's cold out here," he muttered. "I gotta take a leak. Hold this," he said, shoving his staff at Hawke.

Hawke frowned but took the staff, then gaped as Anders pulled up his robes right there.

"Uh, maybe you want to-"

Merrill giggled and peered over while Bethany turned away, stifling her own laughter. Varric quickly sidestepped the stream of urine, scowling. Hawke covered his face with his free hand, wondering how long it would take to reintroduce Anders into proper society. Then again, the denizens of Kirkwall weren't much more refined down in Lowtown and the Undercity. Perhaps he'd fit right in. His mother would certainly take to him he thought, if Bethany's reaction was any indication. Someone she could pamper and fuss over.

"Ah, better," Anders sighed, shaking himself and then letting his robes drop. "Should we go? What are we waiting for? Where's Kirkwall?"

"About an hour's walk south," Hawke said, handing Anders back his staff.

"Lead on!"

They walked, Bethany needing less assistance as they moved down the mountain. She seemed almost reenergized by the sun, taking Merrill's arm out of playfulness and sisterhood rather than any need of support. Hawke was just considering handing her back her pack when the city came into view. Anders blinked a few times.

"A city. I haven't seen a city since Amaranthine. That's where we were. Well, we were close. The Vigil." He frowned. "It was my home. Until…"

He sounded sad, forlorn as he trailed off, remembering a lost home. Friends. Hawke raised a hand to touch his shoulder, but Bethany was there first. She took his hands, gripping tightly, tugging on him gently. He looked down at her, and Hawke thought he saw tears in the man's eyes.

"Kirkwall's your home now. With us. And if you'd like, you can write to… Nathaniel, was it?"

Anders nodded. "Do… do you think he would write back?"

Hawke wasn't so sure that raising the awareness of the Grey Wardens to a lost one of theirs was such a good idea. But this was the first time that Anders seemed calm, or at least a little on the saner side. He looked upset, worried, maybe that they would reject him again. Hawke felt the empathy that his sister felt. If the Wardens came to collect Anders, and Anders didn't want to go back, he would stop them, physically if he had to.

"If he's able to, I'm sure he would," Bethany said diplomatically. "Come on. Let's get you home and bathed and changed into clean clothes. We can even bathe Ser Pounce-a-lot."

Hearing his name, the cat poked its head out of Anders' robes and mewled. Bethany reached up and scratched him gently between the ears.

"Hmph. I guess," Anders said, back to his regular moody self.

They continued down the path, silent until the city was only a couple dozen steps away.

"How many templars are in Kirkwall?" Anders asked carefully.

"I'm not sure," Hawke replied. "The mages are locked up in the Gallows. There are always templars around the docks, I think to catch any trying to escape. But most of them are stationed in the prison as well. I really couldn't say."

"Well. You're very useless."

Hawke sputtered. "I am not!"

Anders turned and looked at him, then smiled. He gave Hawke a conciliatory pat on the arm. "I'm sure you can think of a few things you're good at, but that doesn't make you useful. Even if you are very handsome." He reached up and pinched Hawke's cheek sharply.

Hawke gaped as Anders continued walking again, Bethany and Merrill hurrying to keep up, the former giving him an apologetic look.

"Varric," Hawke said.

"Yeah, Hawke?"

"Tell me again why we saved the crazy person from the Deep Roads."

"I don't know if 'saved' is the right word here."

"…You're laughing at me, aren't you?"

"Haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

Hawke looked down at him, scowling at Varric's innocent expression. "Do NOT write this into your stories, Varric. I mean it."

"Okay. Handsome," Varric added with a snort.

Hawke growled as Varric grinned and hurried after the others. Resigned to his fate of taking care of and being insulted by Anders no matter what, Hawke trudged on, catching up easily as they reached the gates of the city. The guards, who by now recognized Hawke and Bethany as friends of Aveline's, let them pass without a word. However, their heads turned, following Anders who seemed oblivious. He looked around, wide-eyed at the Lowtown market as they descended.

"I'd forgotten what colors realy look like," Anders admitted. "There's so much… nothing in the Deep Roads."

Despite the dirt and grime on his robes, Bethany took him by the arm. They were getting strange looks from just about everyone, and Hawke thought maybe it would be best to get them off the streets as quickly as possible. Ideally it would have been night when they returned, the stalls closed. But the Maker had a wonderful sense of humor and it was just after midday, the shops open and the roads full of people out for a meal or to make trades.

"Let's get inside before – Anders!"

Anders had pulled quickly away from Bethany and stepped right up to an herbalist, bending low to examine her wares. The woman scrambled back quickly, a mixture of terror and disgust on her face. Anders looked up at her, picking up a pile of spindleweed.

"How much for this?"

She looked at him, wide-eyed, without answering.

"Hello? Can you talk?" Anders asked, waving a hand in front of her face. "I mean, really. You're a shopkeeper, you want money for this?"

Hawke approached, pulling Anders back gently. "It's fine. I've got this." He withdrew a few coppers from his pouch and set them on the table. "For the… the stuff, thank you!" he said quickly, steering Anders away.

"No, really, if that's how they do business in this town it's no wonder the economy has turned to shi-ooh! Shiny stuff."

Hawke watched as Anders flitted from stall to stall. Varric took his leave, promising Hawke he'd get him his cut of their findings. Hawke thought Varric was a bit of a traitor to leave him with Anders, and was about to say so when Merrill decided to head off as well.

"A bath and a nap in my own bed," she said, and promised she'd meet them at the Hanged Man later.

Bethany said good-bye and took Hawke by the arm, head leaning against his shoulder. "Well, big brother," she sighed. "Do you want to take him home so we can tell Mother the good news?"

"This is good news?" Hawke asked. "Oh for the love of – Anders!"

Anders was flailing now, pointing exaggeratedly at a gemstone the size of a dragon's egg. "That! THAT ONE THERE!"

The man was reaching back for what looked like a mallet when Hawke intercepted quickly.

"What? What are you doing?"

Anders frowned. "I just wanted to see that ruby stone. I thought it would fit in my staff nicely. You know. For decoration. But the woman, she ducked off inside that house and sent out this guy who is – HEY PUT THAT DOWN!"

Hawke turned in time to block the blow from the mallet with his gauntlet. It would've smashed against his head had he not. About to draw his sword, he stopped when the man stumbled back as if punched in the gut. He looked at Anders, whose eyes were narrowed, hand up, palm out. There were no flashy lights, no evidence of magic. But it had to be magic, right? The man doubled over and fell, breathing heavily.

"I should snap your neck for trying to hurt my friend," Anders said stiffly. "Instead I'll just take this as payment." He climbed atop the table and reached up to the high shelf, plucking the red stone with both hands. "Trust fall," he said, and let himself fall backwards.

Startled, reflexive instincts taking over, Hawke quickly caught him. "What the-"

"My hero, et cetera. Put me down, you idiot. People will start to think we're in love."

Hawke gently placed him on the ground, glaring at Bethany as she started to giggle again. Anders slung an arm around her shoulders, taking up his pack.

"There's only one lady for me, this beauty right here," he proclaimed. "Are you taking me home to meet your mother? It's so very fast, this engagement. Are we to elope?"

Bethany grinned. "As charming as you are, messere, I think I'm a bit young to get married."

"Oh nonsense! But I think your brother would get jealous," Anders said, then in an exaggerated whisper, added, "I think he has a crush on me."

Hawke, stunned, followed them down the street toward Gamlen's house. Bethany was acting as if he was an old friend, taking his crazy in stride. He missed Varric almost immediately. At least he seemed to realize that Anders was… different.

"Hurry up, slowpoke," Bethany called back. "We have so much to tell Mother!"

Hawke shouldered both their packs once more, and shaking his head, followed them to Gamlen's house.


	5. Chapter 5

Leandra looked up as the door opened, the mabari at her feet stirring lazily, lifting his head to see if they were a threat. Hawke grinned as he came bounding over, caught him, and ruffled his ears even as his face was licked in enthusiasm. Leandra had at the same time leapt from her seat and hugged Bethany tightly, clinging.

"My baby! My little girl!"

Anders, behind Hawke, sniffed. "Touching reunion. The dog smells a bit though. And it seems to want to eat you."

"Garrett, you're home! And you… brought a friend," Leandra said delicately, looking between her children at Anders, who was still eyeing the dog with disdain. "I… hello, there. Garrett, can I talk to you in the other room?"

Hawke looked at Bethany who pushed him toward their mother. He would remember that for later. He allowed his mother to pull him into another room while Bethany settled their things. Hawke, for all his strength, his impressive mass, felt cowed by the woman in front of him. Leandra glared delicately, arms crossed, waiting for him to explain the dirty hermit on the doorstep.

"Things went badly," he said gently. "Bartrand left us to die."

Her expression softened, arms uncrossing.

"It's a long story." And not one he was willing to go into fully. "As we were trying to make our way out, we ran into some trouble. Bethany got sick but she's okay now," he added quickly. "Anders – the man out there – he saved her life."

There was a lot more to tell of course, mostly where Anders came from, how he was down in the Deep Roads for over a year, but it didn't seem to matter to Leandra. Her eyes were slightly glassy and she reached up, cupping Hawke's cheek.

"My poor boy. Oh!"

She hugged him tightly and he held her, rubbing her back gently, careful with his gauntleted hand. It was strange how she could make him feel like a little kid again, despite how delicate she was in his arms. She leaned up and kissed his cheek before stepping back to look at him fondly. A cry from the next room interrupted them.

"What in the Maker's bloody name-!"

"Your uncle must be home," she sighed, and slipped past him into the main room. "Gamlen, you're back."

Hawke turned, leaning against the doorjamb to watch. His uncle stood just inside the front door, hands on his hips as he surveyed his house. Anders was sitting at the table, looking at him with a curious expression. Bethany was by the fire, ignoring Gamlen, boiling water for either tea or coffee, and Leandra moved to intercept her brother as he started to take a step inside.

"This is not a refugee encampment," he snarled, as Leandra tried to placate him.

"Garrett's home now," Leandra soothed. "I've been working on getting an audience with the viscount and we'll go to see him soon. Now. No, Gamlen, listen, please."

Gamlen pushed her aside and approached the table, looking down at Anders. "And who in the name of Andraste are you, boy?"

Anders stood, and Hawke smirked to see he was quite a bit taller than Gamlen.

"I am Arnok, Grand Wizard of the Divine Lands of Shapauldria."

Bethany's shoulders shook with silent laughter and she covered her mouth, eyes darting to Hawke, who merely shook his head, lips pursed. Anders was looking at Gamlen straight-faced, staff in hand. The effect was complete as Ser Pounce-a-lot poked his head out of his robes once more, and hissed at Gamlen, a paw out and swiping the air.

"And my cat doesn't like you very much," Anders added.

"This… I am not drunk enough to deal with this," Gamlen muttered. He looked at Leandra. "You and your brats are one thing. I am NOT housing this… this lunatic!"

"You almost hurt my feelings," Anders said, leaning on his staff now, head against the metal. His gaze slid to Hawke. "I see where you get your manners from."

"Me?" Hawke scoffed. "I'm nothing like him."

Gamlen scowled. "I want him out by the time I get back, Leandra. I mean it!"

The door slammed behind him as he left.

"Charming fellow," Anders said airily. "You know, I bet he gets _all_ the women. They must be queuing up to suck his-"

"Okay! How about some coffee?" Hawke said, pushing quickly away from the door, grabbing down mugs. "I could definitely use a drink. And then we can get you cleaned up," he added to Anders. "And find you a place to stay."

"Nonsense," Leandra said defiantly. "He stays here until we can get our estate back, then he can come with us."

Hawke had grossly underestimated his mother's ability to appreciate those who saved her children's lives. Regardless, he was glad he would have to pay for a room in the Hanged Man or beg one of his friends to put Anders up for a bit until he could find something. He was sure that Fenris would be overjoyed at the idea of having a half-crazy mage squat with him in the old derelict mansion after all. He allowed himself a passing bit of amusement at the conversation that sprung to mind, and realized that he would have to explain himself a few times over in regards to Anders, unless he gathered them all up for introductions. Once Anders was cleaned up, of course.

Leandra asked Anders about himself, where he came from – "Everywhere and all over," – what his plans were now he was in Kirkwall – "Looting and pillaging," – and whether or not he was single, because she knew quite a few nobles who were looking to marry – "Ser Pounce-a-lot would get jealous."

"I see," she answered carefully with each response. "Well, Garrett's always had an affinity for friends who are… different."

"Mother."

"Well dear, I'm sorry, it's true. Those elves you run around with, and that Rivaini woman. Whatever happened to your friendship with Aveline? You two were so close. I did hope that maybe… well. She seems to be over Wesley."

Hawke made a face. He was fond of Aveline, but seeing her in a capacity of a lover was akin to thinking of Bethany in that way. Aveline was a sister to him, or a favorite cousin. Also she was a bit of a pain in his ass, someone he had to tell half-truths to lest she shut down Athenril's smuggling or get in the way of one of the shadier 'errands' he found himself running just to scrape together enough coin to live. Speaking of, he did want to get to the Hanged Man before dark to talk to Varric about their findings.

"I'll go draw up a bath for Anders."

Hawke left them to talk to him, figuring Bethany could curtail his bluntness. A few minutes later he could hear laughter. A part of him was curious, but the other part realized he might not want to know. After he'd filled the tub – which was little more than a barrel split in two and turned on its side – he reentered the main room.

"Is it true you thought 'kissing' meant to push someone in the mud?" Anders asked, wiping a tear from his eye.

Bethany was grinning, and Hawke noticed his mother was hiding a smile with her mug.

"That was _one_ time," Hawke ground out. So they were telling stories about him as an awkward child. He'd tried to 'court' one of the shopkeeper's girls. His father had suggested he kiss her, and when Hawke asked what it meant, Malcolm had obviously lied. "For Andraste's sake, I was FOUR years old!"

"As long as you don't push me in the mud," Anders said, standing. "Bath ready?"

"I wouldn't want to kiss you," Hawke snapped back.

"Oh shame," Anders replied, moving past him into the next room. "You are kind of cute after all."

Bethany gave Hawke a pronounced wink while his mother smirked. Hawke was ever so glad that they were at least enjoying his embarrassment. With a sigh, he followed Anders, shutting and latching the door for privacy.


	6. Chapter 6

Hawke had never helped a grown man bathe before. When the twins were younger he would help his mother with them, being almost a decade older than they were. Anders seemed rather indifferent to him even being in the room, and Hawke winced a little as he peeled layer upon layer of clothing off. He was skin and bones, and it pained him to see that. Anders slipped into the water and immediately took up the soap, scrubbing at his feet and legs. Hawke gathered the robes carefully, keeping his face turned away.

"I'm going to just… throw these out."

"Not the cloak!" Anders snapped. "Got all my things in the cloak. Lyrium potions are hard to come by, you know?"

Hawke picked the cloak out of the bundle and heard a few things rattling. Curious, he tossed the rest of the clothes in the empty fireplace – he'd burn them later – and opened the cloak.

"Holy Andraste," Hawke gasped.

Sewn into the lining were dozens of potions. Not just dozens, hundreds maybe, all different colors.

"How did you do this?"

Anders was reaching for Ser Pounce-a-lot, who was hissing, obviously not looking forward to getting in the tub. "Huh? Oh. I learned how to refine lyrium ore."

"You learned… How did you learn that?" He was staring at Anders now, who'd seized the wriggling cat.

"It's easy once you – OW! Ser Pounce-a-lot! BAD KITTY!"

Anders scowled as Ser Pounce-a-lot hooked his claws into Anders' shoulder, trying to scramble out of the water.

"Give us a hand, oh brave warrior!" Anders snapped at Hawke.

Hawke, who was rather a brave warrior in his own summation, did not think he would ever find himself wrangling a cat into a tub. He was suddenly very thankful he left his gauntlets and bracers on. The claws could not penetrate the metal. They worked together, Hawke holding the wriggling cat while Anders scrubbed and rinsed the fur.

"Let him go now," Anders said. "You're free!"

Ser Pounce-a-lot leapt out of the tub, spraying water everywhere. He ran under a table where he shook himself, then started licking his paw, looking angry and disgruntled.

"He'll get over it," Anders muttered, dumping water over his own head.

"I have a razor," Hawke said. "For your beard if you want to trim it."

"Oh Maker, no," Anders said. "I don't want to trim it."

Hawke felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

"I want to rip the whole thing from my face. It itches like mad. How do you handle it?"

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll get scissors and the razor."

Anders hummed quietly to himself as Hawke hung up the cloak. Regardless of being a potions receptacle, it would need to be washed. He left briefly to the other room, waving off Bethany and his mother's inquiring looks and retrieved the shaving kit he kept hidden among his things. He also pulled out an extra tunic and pants and a threadbare towel that had seen better days before returning and latching the door again.

"I can start a fire. It might start to get chilly."

Anders lazily waved a hand and his old clothes caught flame. Hawke jumped, frowning. He didn't even see the fire leave his fingertips.

"How did you…"

"Magic," Anders said easily. "I'm a mage, remember? Maker, but you have a bad short-term memory. That's okay though, you have that whole… ruggedly handsome thing going for you. Keep that. Women like them big and dumb."

Hawke scowled, tossing the clothes and towel on a table. "Here," he said, handing him the kit.

"I don't suppose you have a mirror," Anders said, eyebrow raised.

"Well… no. Not exactly."

Anders leaned back in the tub, arms on the sides. The water had turned murky, and Hawke was fairly sure Anders would need another bath after the first just to get all the grime off. At least he would smell a bit better. 

Anders tilted his head back. "Go on then."

"Sorry?" Hawke asked, as Anders closed his eyes.

"Shave me."

There was an absurdity to the situation, Hawke thought. Anders relaxing in the tub, ordering him so easily, as if Hawke was his manservant.

"You can't do this yourself?"

Anders opened one amber colored eye, and it was amazing how he managed to carry a look of disdain like that. "Do you want me to cut myself? Look, my hands shake from the year I spent in the Deep Roads." He lifted a hand from the tub and shook it dramatically.

Hawke scowled, pulled up a stool, and removed his gauntlets and bracers. He'd never shaved another man before, but how hard could it be? He'd clipped and trimmed his own, after all. Anders dropped his hand and head, and relaxed as Hawke cut the hair down as far as he could, tossing clumps into the fire. The acrid scent permeated the room, and Anders coughed.

"Do I have to do everything? Honestly." 

He took up the soap, scraped a sliver under his fingernail, and did… something. Hawke watched as it faded almost like it was turning into some sort of shadow. Anders threw his hand up in the air and the soap burst into a thousand little pieces. The rank smell of burning hair dissipated and instead was replaced by the herbal scent of the soap.

"How…?" Hawke was almost speechless.

"Ma. Gic." Anders said, pronouncing the word as two. "Continue."

Hawke scowled but continued, smoothing a bit of lotion over Anders' cheeks and neck. That was like no magic he'd ever seen. He wondered if Anders would ever give him a straight answer, or if he'd be left to guess at exactly what type of magic it was. Carefully he dragged the blade over his skin, also wondering how much Anders had to trust him, if he knew exactly how vulnerable he was right now. Not that Hawke would ever entertain the idea of slitting this man's throat. It seemed odd; they'd only met the previous night and already they were building a sort of rapport.

"Do you want me to cut your hair as well?"

"Up to the chin. Leave it long enough so I can tie at least some of it back."

Hawke felt like barking a sarcastic, "Yes, serah!" but bit his tongue. 

Anders sat up, and Hawke carefully drew his fingers through the mess of tangles.

"Owowowowow!" Anders snapped. "Ow! Brush it first, you brute!"

Hawke took a deep breath, trying to find patience. He left the room once more, asked Bethany for her brush, and returned. The desire to throw the brush at Anders' face was almost overwhelming.

"This is the last time I'm doing this for you," Hawke said, sitting behind him. He carefully brushed out the tangles.

Anders laughed. "I'm surprised you're doing it this time. You must really like me." He leaned back, looking at Hawke upside down. "Do you like me? I mean, I told Bethany you might have a crush on me, but this just proves it, doesn't it-OW!"

Hawke pulled purposefully on a tangle. "Sorry," he grunted. "Sit up."

Anders did, shoulders slumped. He seemed almost like he was pouting. Hawke didn't care. He was still trying to figure out what in the Maker's name he was going to do with him. He could let him loose on the city of Kirkwall. Anders was a grown man after all; Hawke had no obligations to him. Sure, he could provide him a safe place to sleep, food to eat. But beyond that? Was he really going to introduce Anders to the others? To Isabela? To Aveline? To Fenris? Aveline would say he would be safer in the Gallows. It would be for his own good. Fenris would have something similar to say, he was sure of it. And Isabela? She'd try to get in his pants. Definitely. That's what Isabela did. And Anders… he wasn't such a bad looking guy now that the beard was gone and the hair was brushed out. Hawke trimmed it carefully, then packed up his shaving kit.

"You're all done. Towel and clothing's there," he said. "We'll go to the Hanged Man for supper. I need to talk to Varric anyway."

"You must be the apple of your mother's eyes, you sweet boy," Anders cooed.

Hawke growled and left him, shutting the door behind him.

"How is he?" Bethany asked eagerly.

"Fine. Sarcastic and sunny," Hawke said tiredly.

It wasn't the sarcasm or even the rudeness that Hawke really cared about though. It was the not-so-subtle flirting. He wasn't sure what to do with it. His father had teased him the older he got, mostly about girls. When Hawke expressed interest in a boy his own age, a traveling merchant's son, the teasing simply continued, only it was about boys. Hawke never properly learned how to talk to those he found particularly attractive without tripping over his tongue. And Anders' flirting affected him where others did not. In retrospect, Hawke was glad for his inability to flirt. It probably wasn't a good idea to entertain the notion of a relationship with someone like Anders anyway. Not that he was thinking about it in the first place.

Not at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke opened the door to the Hanged Man, holding it for Bethany and Anders who walked inside. Anders looked… well, almost normal now. The tunic was a bit large, but Bethany tied it closed with a belt and did a quick alteration on the pants so they wouldn't fall down, and hemmed the bottoms. He looked a bit unkempt, but it was Lowtown, not Orlais. What made him really stand out was the fact that he wore Ser Pounce-a-lot on his shoulders like a scarf. The cat seemed perfectly fine perched there, relaxed, eyes darting around. His fur was still slightly damp from the tub, but his ginger coloring was much brighter now.

"There's Isabela," Bethany said, and led the way over to the bar.

"Oh hello, sweet thing," Isabela purred as Bethany sidled up next to her. She glanced over at Hawke and was about to greet him as well and stopped, eyes on Anders, flicking up and down. "And who is this lovely specimen of manhood?"

Anders turned, looking over his shoulder, saw no one, and turned back. "Oh, me."

"Wait, don't I know you?" she asked, turning fully to look at him now. One hand rested on her hip, fingers of the other tapping against her lips. "Have you ever been to Denerim?"

Anders scowled. "I don't like that city."

"Wait! I know, the Pearl!"

"The whorehouse? Were you one of the cheaper ones?" Anders asked, with all his usual tact.

Isabela laughed. "Oh, I remember. You were the runaway mage who could do that electricity thing."

Bethany's eyes widened. "What electricity-"

"If we're done corrupting my baby sister," Hawke said, pushing between Anders and the women. He signaled to Corff for two ales, trying not to imagine whatever electricity thing they were talking about. "Is Varric here?"

"Upstairs as usual," Isabela said, peering around Hawke's bulk to look at Anders. "So what are you doing in Kirkwall?"

"Oh I'm with Hawke," Anders said, taking the ale, sipping it. He frowned, looked directly at Corff, and said very seriously, "Did you pee in this?"

Hawke grabbed Anders quickly and pulled him away from the bar before Corff could hit him. Isabela and Bethany followed. Anders casually placed the mug on the table in front of a man who was face down and followed, whistling idly. The door to Varric's suite was open, and Hawke gave a quick knock before stepping in. Varric was sitting at the head of the table, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked up, taking them off.

"Been deep in figures all after- Is that Anders?"

Anders spread his hands. "C'est moi," he said, spinning in a circle before removing Ser Pounce-a-lot and tossing him onto the small bed.

The cat circled twice, then laid down and fell asleep almost at once. Anders plunked himself in a chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and looked at Varric expectantly. Varric cleared his throat and looked up to Hawke.

"Well. He cleans up nice. Anyway. Bartrand took off, no surprise there. It looks like the pieces that we brought up were clear antiques. Thousands of years. Hawke, we're talking millions of sovereigns worth, here."

Hawke gaped at him a moment. "Wait… what?"

Bethany grabbed his arm, tugging a bit. "Millions!"

She guided him to the chair next to Anders, pushing him down into it. Hawke took a deep breath, then another, feeling dizzy. He knew Varric said this trip would set them up for life, but he hadn't been expecting, well… he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. A few thousand sovereigns, maybe. Something that would let him purchase a somewhat decent place in Lowtown for his mother and sister. Maybe a house in Hightown that wasn't as opulent as the rest, an apartment above a shop, perhaps. But _millions_. He could buy the Amell estate several times over.

He let out a shaky laugh.

"Oh good," Anders said. "You can afford better beer, then."

Hawke looked at him. Anders shrugged.

Varric laughed. "Rivaini, can you get a few of the good bottles of wine from Corff?"

Hawke took her wrist. "Could you also maybe send someone to get Merrill? She deserves to know. And… And Fenris and maybe Aveline, so I can introduce them to Anders? He'll be staying with me for a while."

"I bet," Isabela purred, and headed off.

"Ohhh," Anders said, leaning over to Hawke, his head almost on his shoulder. "She thinks we're fucking."

Hawke did not blush, but quickly pushed Anders away. He looked at Bethany. "Millions."

Bethany grinned, hands clapped together, and danced a little on the spot. She leaned over and kissed Hawke on the cheek, then fairly skipped to the head of the table, leaned down, and wrapped her arms around Varric, hugging him tightly.

"Aw, stop, Sunshine. You're embarrassing me."

"Varric, you're amazing!" She kissed his cheek as well.

"Careful," Anders said, covering his mouth to whisper to Hawke, but spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, "I think the dwarf is trying to seduce your sister!"

Bethany crossed to him and wrapped her arms around him as well. Anders froze. Hawke watched his eyes close, looking like he'd never had a hug before. Quite suddenly he felt very sad for Anders. A year in the Deep Roads with no one else but a cat. What would that even be like? Hawke always had his parents or his siblings. And while he felt the loss of his father and Carver deeply, he still had his mother and Bethany. He had his friends. Lothering was always full of people, and Kirkwall was a busy city. What was it like down there in the dark with no one to talk to?

Suddenly, he didn't find Anders' mannerisms quite so annoying anymore.

Bethany kissed his cheek before settling down in a chair. Isabela returned with several bottles of wine. While they waited for the others to arrive, Varric broke down the prices he was hoping to get for each piece, tossing out some rather complicated math. Hawke wasn't unintelligent. His mother had taught him the basics of reading and writing, but he'd had no formal education. The Chantry in Lothering would've happily provided for both him and Carver, but paying a tithe to them, or even donning templar gear for an exchange of services was out of the question. What it boiled down to, Hawke figured, was that he was now one of the richest men in Kirkwall. Or he soon would be.

Merrill arrived first, commenting enthusiastically on Anders' look. Anders seemed almost bashful as the three women fawned over his appearance. Varric smirked and Hawke crossed his arms, feeling slightly put out.

"I shaved him."

Anders patted him on the arm. "And I bet if you shaved, you would look as lovely as me. Only don't. I like your beard."

He reached up and stroked it lovingly. Hawke scowled and pulled away, thankful in that moment for said beard as it hid the blush that crept up his cheeks. Luckily Aveline arrived not long after, complaining about not having time, though she was glad Hawke was back.

"I'm glad to see you took care of your sister," she said, nodding to Bethany.

"Anders saved my life," she said, gesturing to him.

Anders slumped down in his chair a little, apparently uncomfortable with the attention. Aveline looked him over, frowning slightly.

"I'll explain when everyone gets here – oh. Everyone's here," Hawke said, as Fenris stepped inside. 

He smiled at the elf, who merely nodded at him. Hawke didn't take offense. They weren't exactly friends, what with Hawke's pro-mage attitude. He liked to think he was making some headway, however, and Bethany was extremely unthreatening as far as mages went. Quite the opposite of the magisters of Tevinter, to hear Fenris tell it.

"Might want to close the door," Varric said.

Fenris shut the door, and everyone looked at Hawke expectantly.

"Ah well. Everyone, this is Anders. He's…"

"I didn't realize I was coming here to be put on display, for one," Anders said, still leaning down, arms crossed now.

"We're celebrating!" Bethany said, and opened a bottle of wine.

Glasses were passed around, while Varric put away his paperwork. He took out a deck of cards.

"What are we celebrating?" Aveline asked, taking a seat, though keeping a wary eye on Anders.

"A successful expedition!" Bethany declared, raising her wine glass.

"You shouldn't drink," Hawke said under his breath.

"And the fact that I survived, thanks to Anders," she added, taking a defiant sip of wine before making a face at Hawke.

Hawke sighed, but accepted the cards he was dealt. He leaned over to Anders. "Let me know if you're uncomfortable. We can… we can go if you want. Sorry, I didn't think-"

"That's apparent," Anders muttered, taking up his cards. "I'm shit at cards."

Hawke watched him take a sip of wine, and hoped he wouldn't regret this outing.


	8. Chapter 8

Anders might have been shit at cards, but he could drink. A lot. And he knew the lyrics to the raunchy songs that Isabela started. He seemed almost normal when he was drunk, no little quirks emerging as he conversed with the others. Bethany was looking a little red-faced though, and Hawke thought perhaps he should slip out and ask Corff for a room. Taking his sister home in that state meant his mother would yell at _him_ for sure. As if Bethany wasn't old enough to look after herself. It was Isabela actually, who was looking after both her and Merrill, laughing as she taught them how to tuck cards down their cleavage or up their sleeves. Aveline had begged off after the second or third round, and Varric called up for a bread and cheese plate to help with the alcohol consumption.

"You three are going to have terrible hangovers in the morning," Hawke noted.

"Not true!" Bethany said. "I have magic that heals that!"

"Me too!" Merrill piped up.

Hawke waited for Anders to add himself to the chorus of mage pride, but he did not, instead, kept his head down, frowning at his hand.

"I think I lost again," he muttered, glancing over to Hawke's hand. "How'd you get such a good hand?"

Hawke sighed. "We cheat, Anders. Everyone cheats."

"Oh."

"I can show you how."

Anders shrugged.

"The more he drinks, the less he says," Fenris said, taking another sip of wine.

Hawke had lost count of how much everyone had, but by now they were all various stages of drunk. Bethany, Merrill and Isabela became louder and more jovial. Varric, who never really seemed to get beyond tipsy despite how much he drank, chuckled a bit more at their antics. Fenris and Anders only grew more maudlin with every cup.

 _Well at least they have one thing in common,_ Hawke thought. It could have turned out worse, honestly. Fenris and a half-crazy mage in a room together was a volatile combination. Both he and Aveline had taken the story of how he'd come to be with them in stride, Hawke leaving out the gritty details.

"I'm right here," Anders said. "You can talk to _me_ you know. Maker, does everyone have such bad manners in Kirkwall?"

"Actually," Hawke said contemplatively, "the only native Kirkwaller is Varric."

"I guess it's just you and your other friends, then." Anders reached for his wine glass and downed it. He tossed his cards down. "Fold."

He stretched, and Hawke glanced over surreptitiously. The tunic had slipped off his shoulder a little. Maker, a little bit of bare skin shouldn't have made him feel so warm. But there was no denying he did feel at least a bit of an attraction to the man sitting next to him, even if it was only physical.

"So how _did_ you end up in the Deep Roads?" Isabela asked, collecting the little chips of wood they'd started using as placeholders for money.

If she wanted to collect, Isabela could rightly take Hawke's fortune right now.

"The Wardens left me," Anders said, frowning. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Aw, surely there's more to the story than just that," Isabela pressed.

"That's it."

"But if they wanted you gone, they could have just kicked you out, couldn't they? Or reassigned you? Or-"

"Shut up!" Anders snapped, palms slamming on the table, rattling the bottles and glasses.

All eyes were on Anders now, the side conversations coming to a quick halt.

"Touchy," Isabela sniffed.

"I don't want to play anymore."

He stood, swaying, and Hawke got to his feet in time to keep him from toppling over. Ser Pounce-a-lot stood, stretching, and got off the bed, sensing his master's distress.

"Maybe we should call it a night," Varric said carefully. "Hawke, are you staying?"

"We'll get a room here, I think." He wasn't sure he wanted to drag the two of them home drunk. He was feeling a bit tipsy himself, but he could handle his alcohol better than anyone save perhaps Varric.

"I'm going to go with Isabela and Merrill," Bethany declared. "We're going to play Wicked Grace in Isabela's room."

"No strip Wicked Grace," Hawke warned.

Bethany patted him on the cheek. "He's such a good brother, isn't he, Merrill? He always looks out for me."

Hawke sighed, watching the three of them go, and looked at the very drunken mage in his arms. Anders started to mutter about herbs, expressing a disinterest in deathroot prices that were much too high.

"The stuff just grows on the side of the highway, you know? You can literally pick it in almost any country and – hey. Why are you hugging me? Not that I mind. You're soft." Anders leaned up and brushed his cheek along Hawke's.

Fenris scowled and drained his wineglass, standing. "Varric. Thank you for the evening."

"See you later, Broody. Careful back to that mansion." He waited until Fenris was gone, then stood. "I'll talk to Corff about a key," he offered.

"Thanks, Varric," Hawke managed.

He tried walking Anders toward the door, but the man's legs didn't seem to work. Instead, he took Anders around the waist and wrapped one of his arms around his shoulders. Mostly carrying him now, he looked at Ser Pounce-a-lot.

"Uh. Come?" he ordered.

The cat looked at him, then lifted a paw and started licking.

Hawke hoped the cat would follow as he tugged Anders out into the hall. Varric appeared at the top of the stairs not too long after and handed him a key.

"Third on the left," he said. "You going to be okay with him?"

Hawke nodded, hefting Anders who, he thought, had fallen unconscious. "Yeah," he grunted. "Maker, he's dead weight. I got him, thanks, Varric."

"I'll have Edwina send a breakfast tray in the morning. Sleep well, Hawke."

"Thanks," Hawke said again, and struggled down the hall with Anders. 

The cat followed thankfully and claimed the end of a bed for his own. Hawke kicked the door shut and carefully deposited Anders onto the mattress. He pulled his shoes off and was about stand when Anders decided to sit up suddenly, bashing his forehead against Hawke's.

"Ow!" Anders scowled, rubbing his forehead. "You don't have to hit me so hard…"

Hawke sighed, biting back the angry retort that threatened to surface. "Just go to sleep. You're drunk."

He tossed Anders' shoes aside and turned off the oil lamps, leaving the room dark. A hand shot out and grabbed his own.

"Turn them back on."

Anders sounded so… well, terrified was the only word for it. Hawke quickly turned them back on, and allowed Anders to pull him down, so close his lips were brushing Hawke's ear.

"I. Hate. The Dark."

Hawke frowned. "But you spent all that time… Surely it was dark…"

"I know. That's why I hate it. Maker's breath, Hawke. You're a bit slow."

Hawke sighed. "Look, just… sleep and in the morning we'll figure out how to find your friend and… what are you doing?"

"Petting your beard."

He was, in fact, stroking Hawke's face. As if Hawke's beard was a cat. Or some other small, fuzzy creature.

Hawke closed his eyes, gathering patience, and was about to open them again when he felt warm, chapped lips pressed against his own. Instantly he knew he should push Anders away. He was drunk, they'd only just met. The man obviously wasn't in his right mind. Long-fingered hands cupped his face and held him gently, and he found himself responding, wanting this as much as it seemed Anders did. Hawke had only ever kissed a few people intimately in his life, and his experience with sex was limited to one quick, mutual hand job in the barracks at Ostagar.

Anders' tongue pressed forward and Hawke let it, not knowing quite what he should do with his own. It was embarrassing. He was closer to thirty than twenty, and shouldn't have been some blushing virginal thing. Deciding to take the initiative, he pressed Anders back, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Then Anders stopped moving, and Hawke wondered if he'd hurt him. He pulled back quickly.

"Anders?"

In the dim light of the lamp he saw Anders laying there, eyes closed, breathing even and deep. He'd fallen asleep. Hawke sat back, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm such an idiot," he muttered.

In his mind, he heard Anders imitating Ser Pounce-a-lot's voice.

_"Yes, yes you are. A big dumb idiot!"_

 

"Shut up," he said to the cat, who was looking at him, head tilted.

With a heavy sigh, he climbed to his feet and took off his own shoes, collapsing into the second bed. Maybe Anders would forget about the kiss, or think it was a dream, and they wouldn't have any awkward conversations about it in the morning. As he fell asleep, he wondered if he could be that lucky.


	9. Chapter 9

"Hawke."

Hawke muttered in his sleep.

"Haaaaaaaaaawwwwke."

He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name in an exaggerated whisper. He opened his eyes and immediately jumped back, heart pounding. Anders had been inches from his face.

"What?!"

Anders grinned, climbing into bed next to him, kneeling. "That waitress brought a tray of pastries and coffee. Good morning."

Hawke, breathing heavily, adrenaline coursing through his veins, dragged a hand over his face, trying to calm down. "Why did you wake me up like that?"

"If you're going to continue to be rude, I'm going to eat all the pastries."

"I don't really like sweets," Hawke grumbled. "Go ahead."

"You're very bad at kissing," Anders noted.

Hawke stared up at him, bewildered expression on his face. In the roughly thirty seconds he was conscious, Anders had scared him awake, threatened him (albeit with lack of pastries), and insulted him. Twice. He wondered again what he saw in this man. And then Anders took his hand in both of his, playing with fingers calloused from farm work and swordplay. He looked down, almost shyly, hair hanging in his face.

"You said we can try to see Karl today."

"What? Oh. Right." His mage friend in the Gallows. Hawke still wasn't sure how he was going to swing that one. Perhaps Thrask could arrange it.

"Karl was like you. When the templars put me in solitary, Karl was there for me when I got out."

"Solitary?" Hawke asked, struggling to sit up.

Anders frowned and entwined their fingers. With his free hand, he swept a few locks of hair behind his ear. "I tried to escape the tower. Several times. Close to a dozen, I think. I lost count. The last time though, the time right before I was able to escape for good, they put me in solitary confinement. You see… I'm a spirit healer. The punishments – flogging – it would hurt, but I could heal myself right away. I think they wanted to make an example of me. Whatever it was, I was put in solitary. The First Enchanter – Maker, I _hated_ him. He's dead now…" Anders paused, as if giving a moment of silence for the man. "He thought, I think, it would be an easy punishment. But I'd rather take a thousand lashes than do that ever again, Hawke."

Hawke stayed quiet, listening to the babble of talk that spilled from him. It seemed to be akin to drawing poison from a wound.

"So I was locked up. Or down, technically. The dungeons were in the basement. I had books. Lots of books. I could study by candlelight, but otherwise I was alone. Except for Mr. Wiggums." Anders glanced over to Ser Pounce-a-lot, who was nibbling on a muffin. "I like cats. They don't look at you funny when you talk. Or make a bad joke. They never want anything from you except to be petted and fed and they don't go running to the templars to tell them you're an apostate. So I had Mr. Wiggums with me. He wasn't my cat, not like how Ser Pounce-a-lot is. But he liked me best. Always did. He kept me company the entire year I was down there."

"A year?! In solitary? For trying to escape?"

Hawke could scarcely believe it. He knew what the Circle was. His father never spoke about it much to Bethany, but he would tell Hawke stories. About how the mages were paraded out for the viscount's functions. How they were treated like toys for the Knight-Commander to play with. He never mentioned corporal punishments or anything like solitary confinement. Not that Hawke agreed with anything the Circle did that Malcolm _had_ mentioned, but the thought of Bethany being flogged or locked away in solitary… It angered him on a very deep level.

Anders nodded. "They dropped off my food. Came in once a month to shave my beard." He laughed bitterly at that. "There were a few times I hoped the blade slipped."

Hawke frowned, and instinctively tugged on his hand, pulling him close. Anders went, leaning against him, head down, resting on his shoulder. Hawke wrapped his arms around him, not knowing what to say.

"And then the Warden Commander leaves me in the Deep Roads. Another year in the dark. Alone."

"You never have to go back," Hawke promised him. "And if you want to sleep with a light on, we'll make sure there are lights." If Gamlen argued the point, Hawke wouldn't hesitate to kick the man out of his own home.

"I thought you were rude," Anders said quietly. "But you're not. You're a little barbaric, though." He looked up at him.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Thanks."

Anders smiled. "You're actually very soft inside, aren't you?"

"Well." Hawke wasn't so sure he wanted _that_ reputation. Varric's stories painted him as a fierce warrior, and he enjoyed the respect that came from those tales. "Just don't tell anyone."

"You'll be my gentle warrior," Anders proclaimed, and leaned forward, kissing him firmly.

Hawke flailed internally. One drunken kiss meant nothing. Even Isabela had kissed him drunkenly one time. But two kisses, and now Anders was sober, and after what he'd said. Hawke stopped thinking as Anders straddled his waist, pushing him back to the bed, not breaking the kiss. He wrapped his arms around Anders' too-thin frame, feeling his ribs through the threadbare shirt. Hawke swore he would see him fed, take care of him.

Anders pulled back, looking down, hands on either side of Hawke's head. "Wait."

"Wait?"

Anders looked over. "Ser Pounce-a-lot might get jealous."

Hawke instinctively looked over at the cat, then realized how absurd the statement was. "Uh… He looks fine to me."

"Pounce," Anders said.

The cat looked up at his name.

"Hawke and I are going to be romantically involved. Okay?"

The cat licked the sugar from his paw.

Anders looked back at Hawke. "That means okay."

"Oh. All right. Well. Glad we cleared that up," Hawke said.

He wondered how many decisions would have to go through the cat's approval. But Anders was kissing him again. Hawke's heart raced, unsure as to how far they should go, but Anders seemed content just to kiss him, or to stop briefly to rub his face against Hawke's beard. Hawke decided he was never going to shave. His hands moved slowly, running up underneath the billowy tunic, and Anders settled against him, muttering.

"Hm?" Hawke asked.

"Whatever happens, I can't fall in love."

It was an odd statement, or at least would have been had it not come from Anders. Hawke was quickly getting used to his random declarations.

"Why?"

"Because something always happens," Anders said forlornly. His head rested on Hawke's shoulder. "Keep doing that, though."

Hawke continued to gently rub his back. He stayed silent, and Anders continued.

"Templars tear you apart and ship your lover off to the Gallows. Or your Warden Commander puts you opposite patrols and leaves one of you in the Deep Roads. Love is just a game. You can't give them too much power, can't let them know how much it hurts when they separate you."

Hawke frowned. He'd mentioned the Gallows. "Karl was your…"

"My first. First everything." He heaved a sigh, then leaned up to look at Hawke. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"I…" Jealous of a former lover. It was an interesting concept. Hawke never had a lover, not really. He never had to deal with that sort of personal jealousy. Perhaps of other people, of his parents' relationship, wishing he could have something like that. "No."

"Good. Because I like you."

Hawke laughed. The declaration was… it was so very _Anders_ as he was beginning to learn. "I like you as well."

The door opened and Hawke belatedly remembered that he hadn't locked it last night. Bethany, Isabela, and Merrill all spilled into the room, stopping as their eyes fell upon Anders lying atop Hawke.

"Well isn't this cozy," Isabela purred.

Hawke fought his first instinct, which was to throw Anders off him and proclaim nothing was going on. But they'd broken into _his_ room, interrupted _his_ morning. And he wasn't doing anything wrong.

"Big brother, you should be ashamed!" Bethany snapped, stalking over. She pulled Anders from him, and inspected him as if Hawke had been hurting him. "Taking advantage!"

Anders patted her on the head like she was a small child. "He hasn't done that yet. We're working up to it."

Hawke felt himself blushing and sat up slowly. To say, 'It's not what it looks like,' would be a lie. So instead, he poured himself some coffee and helped himself to a muffin.

Isabela leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "You work fast, Hawke."

Anders looked her over. "Don't insult Hawke."

"Oh Maker forbid," she said airily.

"Because if you do, I'll hurt you."

"Anders," Hawke said quickly. He wasn't sure if Anders would make good on that threat. He was used to his friends making light fun of him. He'd have to teach Anders the difference between that and things that were truly malicious. Not that he needed Anders of all people to stick up for him. "Come have breakfast."

He did, sitting next to Hawke, their thighs pressing against one another. Hawke wasn't sure if this was normal behavior or not, to move so quickly into a physical relationship like this. But Anders' hand resting gently on his knee as they all sat to eat was warm and comforting. And he liked it. So for now, he wouldn't question it further.


	10. Chapter 10

Hawke decided it would be less conspicuous to take just himself and Anders to the Gallows. Bethany, who always thought it was tempting fate just to talk about it, was more than happy to stay behind. Anders looked up at the tall buildings as they crossed the bay and his hand found Hawke's. Hawke's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't pull away as Anders entwined their fingers. Not that Hawke was opposed to public displays of affection, and there was nothing more innocent than holding hands, he'd just never been in a situation that allowed him this kind of openness before.

"It's a prison."

Hawke nodded. "An old slave prison from when Kirkwall was part of the Tevinter Imperium." He'd spoken with Fenris who knew a lot about the ancient Imperium, about the architecture, the history behind it. The elf's tales were quite fascinating once he let his anger go, some of his stories as gripping as Varric's.

"Well that's… telling."

Ser Pounce-a-lot poked his head out of Anders' tunic, preferring to ride inside instead of around Anders' shoulders for the trip across the water. They disembarked, Anders keeping one arm cupped under the cat's hindquarters, the other hand gripping Hawke's tightly. Hawke ignored the stares from the templar recruits, though perhaps that had less to do with Anders and more to do with the fact that he'd saved one of their own not too long ago. He was heralded as a friend of the Templar Order, a fact at which he bristled, but afforded him quite a bit of necessary leeway.

He spotted Thrask standing by a statue's base and pulled Anders over. Anders frowned, hanging back a little. Ser Pounce-a-lot hissed and swiped at the air. Hawke watched Thrask straighten as they approached. His eyes flicked down to their hands, to the cat that was hissing at him, to Anders and finally to Hawke.

"Serah Hawke."

"Thrask," Hawke acknowledged. "This is Anders, my uh…"

"I really dislike templars," Anders said as diplomatically as he could. He released Hawke's hand to pet Ser Pounce-a-lot, calming him as he pulled him from his shirt, settling him on his shoulders.

"We get that a lot. Especially from mages," Thrask noted, raising an eyebrow.

"Thrask isn't like the other templars," Hawke insisted. "He… Oh, never mind. I'll tell you later. We're looking for a mage, an old friend of Anders' who was a transfer from the Circle in Ferelden."

"His name is Karl Thekla," Anders provided.

Thrask frowned. "Best keep that name to yourself. He's gone missing these last two weeks. No one's seen him. They've been searching, but one lost senior enchanter?" Thrask spread his hands a little. "This city's overrun with apostates, quite a few of them who are turning to blood magic and demons just for protection. They're our priority now."

"They wouldn't have to turn to demons if the templars would just let them be!" Anders spat angrily.

"Not the place," Hawke said through gritted teeth. "I really don't want to fight through a cabal of templars to get you out if they decide to arrest you, so…"

Anders looked at him, wide eyed, slightly pouting. He whispered something to Ser Pounce-a-lot, then pulled the cat from his shoulders. Hawke realized what was about to happen when Anders held the cat up in front of his face.

"You upset him! We're going for a walk!" came Anders' high-pitched 'cat' tone.

Then he turned on his heel, clutching Ser Pounce-a-lot to his chest, and walked off to look at the merchants and their wares. Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose, praying to the Maker that Anders kept himself in check. If he started hurling fireballs here in the middle of the Gallows, no amount of money or influence would keep him safe. He turned back to Thrask, who was looking at him, a bemused expression upon his face.

"He's a bit… um. He's had his head… uh. He's had a hard time of things recently," Hawke tried to explain. "Some weird quirks. He's a good person, I swear." Though he wasn't sure what Anders was exactly, not having known him that long. Anders certainly seemed like a good person, especially with everything he'd been through. He was strange, but he wasn't, well. He wasn't _evil_.

"I see."

"So. Karl's gone missing?" Hawke asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Two weeks ago," Thrask explained. He lowered his voice. "Rumor has it that he's been working with a mage underground. Templars are supposed to keep vigilant about any whisperings."

"That sounds familiar," Hawke said, remembering the templar who'd asked him if he knew anything about the mage underground. "They're not… very smart about finding out information, are they?"

Thrask smirked. "The best thing the Order has going for it right now is its lack of intelligent recruits. Meredith is getting desperate, people are being promoted above their station more quickly. We're-" He cut off looking up. "Oh, Hawke, I think-"

"NO! YOU CANNOT PET THE KITTY!"

Hawke whirled around to see Anders holding Ser Pounce-a-lot tightly to his chest. A templar was backing away slowly, hands in the air. Hawke and Thrask hurried over, Hawke to Anders, Thrask to the other templar.

"Are you all right, Captain?" Thrask asked.

Hawke, who'd been about to take Anders by the arms, turned to see Cullen dabbing at three lines of blood on his face with a handkerchief. Hawke turned back to Anders.

"What happened?"

"He tried to touch Ser Pounce-a-lot," Anders said, then cooed at the cat. "We won't let the meanie templar take you, will we? Never again."

"I was not!" Cullen stated, frowning. "I simply advised him that the Gallows was no place for a cat and that he might want to – Wait." He frowned, pushing Thrask aside dismissively. "Is it… Anders?"

Hawke's heart thudded in his chest. He dropped a hand surreptitiously to his side, feeling the pommel of his sword. Knight-Captain Cullen knowing Anders' name did not bode well. Hawke only just remembered the Captain had previously been stationed at the Circle in Ferelden – had he remembered sooner, he might have had Anders stay away from the Gallows.

Anders frowned. "You never did like cats."

"It is you, isn't it?" Cullen dabbed delicately at the wounds on his face as he stepped forward.

Hawke stepped in front of Anders. A showdown in the Gallows was the last thing he wanted, but Anders was his responsibility. He wouldn't let anyone take him, not without a fight.

"How many of my friends did you slaughter in the Annulment?" Anders asked, eyes narrowed.

"I didn't… I was under Uldred's – How did you know about that?"

"The Warden. The one who gave the order." Anders frowned, looking down at Ser Pounce-a-lot, petting him. "She was my Commander."

"I lost friends that day too, Anders."

Anders head snapped up, glaring at him. "That is so like a templar. Turn this around to make it about you. Maybe if mages weren't locked up in the first place-"

"Mages need protection from themselves and-"

"You're going to need protection from me in a minute!"

"Easy!" Hawke said, grabbing Anders around the chest as he lunged at Cullen.

He wasn't sure if Anders was actually crazy or truly that upset to throw himself at a fully plated templar in the middle of the Gallows.

"Do you speak for this mage?" Cullen asked, the question directed at Hawke.

"I'm fairly sure he's capable of speaking for himself!" Hawke said, trying to calm a still-struggling Anders. From what he saw of Anders' abilities, the man could likely kill him where he stood if he wished. But Hawke wasn't ready to throw a silence just yet, since Anders finally seemed to content to simply settle in his arms now.

"If I see him again," Cullen said, stepping back, "I will arrest him."

"Arrest this!" Anders cried, and Hawke grabbed him up again, half-carrying half-dragging him out.

Hawke glanced back to Thrask, who mouthed clearly, 'The Hanged Man,' Hawke nodded, and continued to drag Anders away. Only when they passed under the iron gates did Anders tuck Ser Pounce-a-lot back into his tunic and stop struggling entirely.

"I don't like Cullen."

"I could tell," Hawke said with a sigh. "Come on. We have some shopping to do for you before I get more information from Thrask."

Anders frowned. "And Karl?"

Hawke nodded as the boat started back across the bay. "We'll find him, Anders. Don't worry."

Hawke felt Anders' free hand slip back into his own, and despite himself, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who came to the livestream!
> 
> Unfortunately I won't be doing any more livestreaming in the foreseeable future. I will (of course) continue to write. Whether or not I continue the Anders rivalmance recording and put them up remains to be seen. Watch my profile for details. ^_^


	11. Chapter 11

They found Thrask in the Hanged Man around the time dinner was being served. Anders was wary of the templar, but Thrask had left his plate armor off and didn't seem inclined to arrest him. Hawke tugged on his hand gently, leading him to the table. Norah settled three mugs of beer and a pot of stew in front of them, Thrask thanking her as she left.

"Hospitable as always, this place," Thrask said, dishing himself out some of the stew.

"You eat the mystery meat here?" Hawke asked dubiously.

"Smells better than deepstalker," Anders noted, and settled Ser Pounce-a-lot beside him as he sat next to Hawke.

Thrask, perhaps as a gesture of good faith, spooned out a bowl for Anders as well. Anders let Ser Pounce-a-lot sniff at it, then lap. Deciding that if it was good enough for the cat, it was good enough for him, Anders took a few spoonfuls. Hawke declined. Hungry though he was, he wasn't yet desperate enough yet to eat the stew here.

"So you know where to find Karl?" Anders asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Hawke handed him a napkin. Not that he was particularly fussed about whether or not Anders used a napkin or his shirt sleeve, but he thought perhaps it was a gentle step to reintroducing him into society. Anders took it, dabbed delicately at the corners of his mouth, then set it down.

"I spoke with the woman who can put us in touch with him. They should both be here once the crowd thins out. Unless they think this is a trap."

"So the underground," Hawke started. "What do you know about it?"

Thrask shook his head. "The less I know about it the better, honestly. We know it exists. I have a few fringe contacts but I'm still a templar. There's a chance that they may not show while I'm here. So once I've eaten, I'll take my leave and hopefully afford you a chance to talk."

"And you're not setting us up, right?" Anders asked, eyes leveled at Thrask.

"Anders," Hawke said carefully. "Thrask is on our side. I promise."

He still recalled how Thrask took his sword to Karras. And how he, Hawke, helped cover up the cause of death for an entire company of templars. Merrill and Bethany set fire to them until the only probable cause of death could be magic. The Starkhaven apostates were blamed, and Thrask wasn't held accountable. Hawke found himself gently touching the small of Anders' back, trying to calm and comfort him. Anders moved closer to him, then slowly laid his head on Hawke's shoulder.

Thrask cleared his throat. "So… you were in the Fereldan Circle?"

"Yes," Anders answered guardedly.

Hawke continued to rub his back, stomach fluttering a bit nervously. There had been no courting process, no real discussion of their relationship. Anders had more or less determined on his own that they were now a couple. Hawke wasn't sure how he felt about this. Perhaps later they would have time to talk it over, to see what it meant. He wished he'd had a bit more experience in the way of romantic relationships. It seemed Anders, despite his quirks, knew what he was doing. Hawke was willing to let it happen for now.

"It was terrible. Even before the abominations," Anders sighed. "No mage deserves that. To be locked up. Do you agree, Ser Thrask?"

Thrask cleared his throat. "Mages need to be schooled in their magic, to be taught how to control it. The Circle is the best place for that."

Anders sat up, scowling. "The Circle is a prison, not a school!"

His declaration drew stares, and Hawke was tempted to quiet him down, but didn't want to risk upsetting him further. Instead, he impulsively pressed his lips to Anders' cheek.

"I'm sure Thrask didn't mean that mages should be locked up." He glanced at Thrask.

"Don't treat me like I'm a child," Anders said haughtily. "Thrask can speak for himself."

"My daughter was a mage," Thrask offered.

"Was?" Anders asked carefully. "She's not… they didn't turn her tranquil, did they?" His voice was thick with sympathy.

"No, she… Serah Hawke met her in her final moments. I regret her death. The Circle might have helped, but I know what it's become. I wouldn't want my daughter there. So I can't quite find it in myself to search too hard for those who run off. I just wish them the best."

"But you're not actively helping things at the Circle. You're not petitioning for mage rights, for equality, for the fact that we don't deserve to be locked up just because the Maker made us this way!" Anders slammed his fist on the table, upsetting both the stew bowls and Ser Pounce-a-lot, who darted away.

Hawke took Anders' fist, covering it with his own hand, and squeezed. "Maybe once we can talk to Karl and this other person from the underground, we can find a way to help," he said soothingly.

It had never been his intention to get involved with a subversive group. He simply had wanted to keep his family safe. But then, getting involved might be a good thing. Bethany for one would definitely benefit from changes in the Circle. Not that Hawke thought they could completely overhaul the Chantry's laws. But every little bit helped. And now with the boon from the expedition, the fact that he was soon to be living in Hightown, his name holding weight, he could do _something._

He let Anders' fingers entwine with his own.

Thrask looked down at their hands, a slight smile on his lips before he finished his beer and stood. "Well. If you don't hear from either of them, send me a note in the Gallows. It's probably best you don't come around for a bit. At least until the marks on the captain's face are healed."

"Bastard deserved it," Anders said bitterly.

Thrask smirked but didn't reply, and lifted a hand in farewell as he headed out. Hawke leaned back against the wall, arm wrapping around Anders protectively as he slid closer on the bench.

"How much longer do you want to wait?" Hawke asked, and considered once again getting a room here rather than heading back to Gamlen's place.

"All night if we have to," Anders said. "I haven't seen Karl in years. I don't know if he'll recognize me."

Hawke sipped his ale, watching the ebb and flow of customers as the bar filled and emptied. Anders seemed content to lean against him, picking idly at the frayed edge of his shirt. When Ser Pounce-a-lot settled across both their laps, he petted him softly. Norah came to clear the table and refilled their mugs. Hawke slid a few silvers toward her in thanks.

"What made you come to Kirkwall?" Anders asked him.

"The Blight. My family was forced out of the south. My mother was from here. We're trying to get her estate back."

"Oh. And then what?"

Hawke frowned. It was a question he'd been asking himself. What would happen after? He'd be nobility, but what did that even mean? He'd only ever been a farmhand and a soldier all his life. Living in an opulent manor, sipping tea and attending parties. Was that really him? Could he do that? He'd grown accustomed to his group of friends, sitting around in Varric's room and playing cards, doing odd jobs for people all around Kirkwall. Would he give that up?

Worse, would his mother want him to date?

No, that wasn't him. Let Bethany handle that. She would love the little soirees and being courted by all the rich noblemen's sons. But… she was a mage. Would anyone want to marry her? It didn't seem fair. She was such a sweet, loving girl who would make anyone happy. And she'd be a wonderful, doting mother. They'd talked about their prospective spouses when they were younger, Bethany proclaiming she wanted dozens of children. Hawke thought about it, but decided he'd be a better uncle than a father. Besides, his eyes strayed more toward other boys than girls. He was fairly sure his mother was resigned to having grandchildren from Bethany alone.

"Then I'm not sure. Maybe keep doing what I was before. Running errands for the people in the city or… adventuring." He grinned a little. A boyhood dream come to fruition.

Anders looked up at him. "You're very odd."

Hawke sighed. "What would you do?"

"I'm going to free the mages."

Hawke was about to respond when the door of the Hanged Man opened. Late as it was, most patrons were leaving, not arriving, so when a man stepped in, tall and thin, grey hair and full beard, he was almost immediately noticeable. Anders' eyes went wide. He vaulted the table, spilling Hawke's beer into his lap and threw himself into the man's arms.

"KARL!"

Hawke scowled and dabbed at the wet spot on his tunic before standing. He glanced at Ser Pounce-a-lot under the table, lapping at the spilled beer. Knowing his luck, Anders would probably blame that on him. With a sigh, he went to go meet Karl.


	12. Chapter 12

Karl, it turned out, was a very calm, soft-spoken and intelligent man. Hawke found it hard not to like him, but he also felt a surge of jealousy as Anders talked to him. At him. Karl wasn't doing too much talking as Anders rambled, telling him what happened after he left the Circle for the last time, his adventures in the Grey Wardens. Hawke supposed Anders would've told him all those tales had he asked, or had they known each other a bit longer. It wasn't just the enthusiasm that made him jealous though, it was the touching. Anders, who seemed almost starved for physical affection, let his fingers brush Karl's arm, his hands, or reached up to tug on his beard. Karl took it in stride, though, smiling, hand on Anders' shoulder or wrist.

"When I realized how bad things were here," Karl said gently, "I knew I had to do something. It's nothing like Kinloch Hold, Anders."

Anders frowned. "Not that that place was all peaches and cream."

Karl reached up to tuck a lock of Anders' hair back behind his ear. "I'm proud of you for finally getting out for good. There'd been talk of your conscription, but I could hardly believe it. But the news of what happened in Amaranthine, they said the city had been sacked, that few survived the attack on Vigil's Keep. I never hoped to think you survived."

"Yes, well, I missed most of that, didn't I?" Anders said bitterly. "Not that it mattered. The Deep Roads treated us well enough, didn't they Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

"Another year in the dark," Karl breathed. "Maker, Anders, it's a wonder you're not…" He trailed off, frowning.

Anders leaned against him, and Karl hugged him. Hawke stared determinedly at a stain on the table in front of him. How stupid was he? It was foolish to think that getting involved with Anders in the first place was a good idea. He was the man who saved his sister's life. And he was slightly unbalanced. Karl was speaking and it took Hawke a moment to realize he was being addressed.

"Hm?"

"Thank you for looking after him," Karl repeated.

"Oh. He can take care of himself. In fact, if it wasn't for him, I'm not sure we would have survived," Hawke replied. "It's getting late, I should get home."

Anders frowned. "You're leaving without me?"

There was something in his tone that gave Hawke pause. "No, I simply thought… well." It was foolish, this jealousy. If Anders preferred to be with Karl, Hawke wouldn't stop him.

"Karl, do you have a place to stay?"

"I do, Anders. Don't worry about me. If you need to go, we'll meet up again soon. I have a lot to catch you up on."

"Anything you need, Karl. And I want to show you some of the new spells I've been working on. I've learned a lot down in the Deep Roads. No templars to tell you what you can and can't do." He nudged Karl. "No cranky enchanters to tell you not to use a certain type of magic."

Karl smiled at him fondly, and Hawke bristled. He wanted to like Karl, it was just… where did he stand with Anders now? Would Anders return to Karl? And why did this matter so much to him? His train of thought was interrupted when Anders took his hand, gripping tightly, and pulled him out of the Hanged Man. Karl followed them, looking around carefully as they stepped out. Hawke could see he was a bit paranoid, and why shouldn't he be? His face was likely very recognizable. Anders leaned forward and kissed Karl chastely on the lips, and Hawke was even more confused.

"Send word for Hawke. I'm staying with him now. Whatever you need, Karl," Anders said rather seriously. "If it means an end to the Circle, we're with you. Right, Hawke?"

Hawke was frowning, but he nodded. Karl offered Hawke his hand, and he shook it.

"We appreciate whatever help we can get. There's a meeting in a few days. We'll keep you informed."

Anders let go of Hawke's hand to scoop up Ser Pounce-a-lot, offering him to Karl, who scratched him under the chin in farewell before pulling up his hood and disappearing down an alley. Anders pulled the cat to his chest and squeezed him, then looked at Hawke.

"Karl was a good teacher. If the Circles fall, they should put him in charge of a school for mages."

"Hm."

"…You were quiet the entire night."

How could he possibly put to words what he was feeling? The jealousy, the confusion. Hawke almost wished he had his own cat he could talk through. It would certainly make things a lot easier.

"Maybe we should talk," Hawke said carefully, and gestured down the street.

Anders took his arm as they walked, Ser Pounce-a-lot clambering up onto Hawke's shoulders. "What would you like to talk about? Because if it's about the mage underground, Hawke, I think that I should remind you that I'm a mage. A mage who wants freedom for other mages. I feel I need to tell you this because you have a bad habit of forgetting things that should be easy to remember."

Hawke sighed. "No. Not about that. It's about… Karl. And us. And what are we doing, Anders?"

Anders glanced sidelong at him. "Walking."

"Can you not take everything so literally?"

Anders stopped. "Can you not take everything so seriously?"

Hawke frowned. "Are we fighting?"

Anders contemplated this for a moment. "I think so. Exciting, isn't it? Our first fight as a couple!"

Hawke gaped. "I… I'm not sure that's supposed to be exciting, Anders."

"Karl and I weren't actually a couple so I don't think our fights counted."

"It's about Karl," Hawke pressed. "Are you… are you and he going to…"

Anders reached up, cupping his cheek. "You're jealous."

Hawke huffed. "No." Yes, he was. But he didn't want to voice that out loud. It seemed petty. Anders deserved what little happiness he could get, and if that meant reuniting with an old flame, then so be it.

Anders leaned up, wrapping his arms around Hawke's neck, avoiding Ser Pounce-a-lot as he pressed his lips to Hawke's. Hawke, surprised but pleased, took him around the waist and returned the kiss, barely aware of the fact that despite the late hour, people were still milling in the street. He pulled Anders flush against him, one hand on the small of his back, the other snaking up into his hair. Breathless, Anders pulled away from him, smiling.

"I like it when you're jealous. Are we going home now?" he asked abruptly. "Do you think your uncle is there? He was the paragon of good manners when I met him."

Hawke sighed. "Anders."

"I like you, Hawke," Anders said, threading his fingers through Hawke's beard, holding his face gently. "I promise you I'll tell you if that changes."

"It's just… it happened so fast."

Anders' eyes shone in the moonlight. "Just follow my lead, then. I know what I'm doing."

He kissed him again, then pulled away and tugged him down the street before Hawke had a chance to protest. Hawke sighed but went, hoping that Gamlen was asleep or out or too inebriated to care that Anders was going to spend the night. Maybe his mother had good news regarding the estate. He could only be so lucky.

"You're home," Leandra said, looking up from the table when they stepped in.

Gamlen, who was sitting across from her, scowled. " _He's_ not staying here."

"Yes, he is," Hawke replied easily. Of course Gamlen would be home to argue the point. Hawke felt only slightly guilty. It was, after all, Gamlen's house. However, had he not sold the family estate to slavers, they would've had a place to live.

"Like hell!" Gamlen snapped, standing.

Hawke looked down at him; he was nearly a head taller than Gamlen, and thanked the Maker he took after his father in that respect. "It's only for a few nights, Uncle."

"I won't take up any extra space," Anders said nonchalantly. "I'll be staying in Hawke's bed."

Hawke closed his eyes, lips pursed, and took a breath. When he opened them again, his mother was staring at him incredulously and Gamlen had folded his arms, glowering.

"So you won't be put out at all. Unless you share a bed with Hawke." Anders looked at Hawke. "That would be extremely awkward."

Hawke enjoyed the annoyed look on his uncle's face, watched him storm into the next room, and flinched when the door slammed behind him. 

Leandra sighed. "Garrett, honestly. Do you have to provoke him?"

"Me?"

"And while I'm glad you seem to be making new friends, perhaps…"

Hawke growled. "Perhaps what?"

Leandra frowned. 

"Anders saved Bethany's life," Hawke said defensively. "And he's… he's…"

"Your lover," Anders provided in an exaggerated whisper. "Or consort if you prefer that, but I'm not sure I appreciate the connotations. You could always refer to me as your 'special friend.'"

He certainly was _special_ Hawke thought.

"On second thought, we should just take a room at the Hanged Man. I'll be back tomorrow, Mother," Hawke said, ignoring her protests as he led Anders back outside.

"It's going to get expensive, you treating me to these fancy hotels."

Hawke looked at him, and saw a flash of sympathy in Anders' face before it was replaced by a cheeky grin.

"What am I going to do with you?" Hawke sighed.

"Whatever you do, don't leave me in the Deep Roads."

Hawke slung his arm around Anders and pulled him close, guiding him back to the Hanged Man. "Never," he promised.


	13. Chapter 13

It took considerably less time than Hawke thought it would to obtain the rights to the Amell estate in Hightown. His good deeds, his mother's perseverance, and quite a substantial amount of coin and they were out of Gamlen's way within the month. Hawke was hesitant to let Anders out of his sight, but Leandra needed his and Bethany's help with the cleaning to make the place habitable once more. Slavers, it turned out, weren't the best housekeepers. There were several hidden rooms as well where squatters had been staying, and the entire place smelled musty and rancid. At least, Hawke thought, the books were still in good condition, the library the only place that looked untouched.

Anders, who had no obligations to clean, headed out early in the morning and return by supper to sit with them in the dining room. Leandra's initial enthusiasm at having Anders stay with them seemed to wane when it became apparent that he had an attachment toward her son. She insisted he stay in a guest room out of propriety. Hawke, for his part, actually liked having Anders around, and missed him when he slipped away in the mornings. Evening meals were terse, Leandra conversing with Bethany and Bethany trying to talk to Anders to get him to open up, while Hawke tended to stay quiet.

"I think Ser Pounce-a-lot and I should move out," Anders declared one evening.

He and Hawke were alone, sitting in the library. Hawke was reading one of his grandfather's books on the Amell lineage, Anders curled up next to him. Hawke stopped stroking his arm, closed the book, and looked down at him.

"Why?"

Anders struggled to sit up and turned to face him, cross-legged on the cushion. "Your mother dislikes me. And I think I'm drawing too much attention by coming and going. I'm not a Hawke, after all, and-"

"Where would you go?" 

"Karl has a place in Darktown. Oh, you're frowning."

Hawke was, in fact. At the mention of Karl's name, whatever good mood he'd been in faded considerably. It wasn't as if he disliked the man, but he knew Anders spent most of his days with Karl, working with the mage underground. While Hawke asked about it, Anders remained candid. Hawke was very close to the Guard, and now being a noble in Hightown it was probably best he didn't draw attention. His position had changed, and perhaps Anders realized that better than he had.

"I don't see why you can't stay here. There's a passage into Darktown from the cellar. If you want to keep things discreet, you can go through there."

"You're still jealous of him," Anders said pointedly. "You don't have to be. Though I do think it's sweet."

"Sweet?"

Anders slid his hand up, fingers playing at the sash around Hawke's waist. Deftly he undid it, and Hawke tensed as those fingers slipped under the hem. He felt the warmth of Anders' hand on his stomach, his thumb brushing along the trail of hair from his navel.

"Anders?"

"Sweet," Anders confirmed, and pushed the fine silken shirt up, leaning down to kiss Hawke's stomach, which tensed and twitched.

"Oh. Well. Okay. I am a little jealous, I guess. You just spend so much time with him and… oh…"

Anders' lips found one of Hawke's nipples and he nipped it. "You have a lot of hair."

"Sorry?"

"Oh don't be. I'm sure it's genetics," Anders said nonchalantly, as if he wasn't exploring Hawke's body with his mouth and tongue and teeth.

His other hand scratched gently at Hawke's side, and Hawke felt the stirrings of arousal in his groin. He flashed back briefly to his first and only time, another soldier's hand on his prick, stroking him hard as they kissed against the wall of the barracks. The weight of the man's own arousal in his hand. They'd been sparring and Hawke was surprised by the rough kiss, a clack of teeth, the taste of blood. It happened so fast and it was over in minutes. They never spoke of it again, and a week later he was running from darkspawn. He wished he'd had more opportunities. But to say that he regretted his time spent taking care of his family instead of chasing after sex, well. That would be a lie.

"I'm not…"

"There are a lot of things you're not," Anders confirmed, and slid to the floor, kneeling between Hawke's legs. "And a lot of things you are."

Hawke watched, dry-mouthed as Anders plucked the ties of his pants, parted the fabric. His cock, half-hard and getting harder, pressed against his smalls. Anders considered them a moment, and Hawke let out a surprised yelp as a buzz of electricity shot through his lower half. It wasn't unpleasant, in fact, it felt quite, quite good. When he looked down again, his smalls were in tatters.

"How…"

Anders sighed and pulled the fabric from Hawke's hips, snapping the waistband. His pants, however, were completely intact. Anders tossed the ruined smalls into the fireplace. "Magic. They were in my way. I took care of them."

"I've never seen magic like…"

Anders glared up at him. "I'm going to suck your cock. Unless you'd prefer we talk about magic. And while I'm all for an intellectual discussion on the use of magic both practical and impractical, I really, really want to taste your come."

Hawke gaped, unable to think of a single thing to say to that. He was used to Anders being frank, being direct. But this was… good. Very, very good, Hawke thought as Anders lowered his head and licked the tip of his cock. Under his skillful ministrations, Hawke grew hard quickly. He wasn't sure where to put his hands, leaving them hovering over Anders' head, then gripping his own thighs. Eyes closed, head back against the couch cushion, Hawke heard himself panting. He'd never, ever felt anything so good before. Lotion, oil, none of it measured up to this. He tried not to thrust, didn't want to hurt Anders by accidentally fucking his mouth. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, listening to the sound of Anders' mouth around him, feeling that lovely warm heat.

"I'm close," Hawke warned, as Anders' head bobbed expertly between his legs.

Anders muttered something around him before swallowing hard. Hawke shuddered, fingers digging into the couch cushions. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from crying out, not wanting to alert the rest of the house. The last thing he needed was for his mother or Maker forbid Bethany walking in and seeing this. Breathing heavily, coming down from his first non-solitary orgasm since Ostagar, Hawke watched Anders pull back, shivered as he licked the sensitive flesh.

"I… that… um."

"You could just say thank you," Anders offered, as he straightened Hawke's clothing. He moved up into his lap, straddling him.

Hawke felt Anders' erection pressing into his stomach. "Thank you," he managed, and accepted the kiss from him, tasting himself on Anders' tongue. "Anders… do you want me to…"

Anders smirked. "It's been a long time since I've been with a blushing virgin."

"I am not!"

"Not blushing or not a virgin?"

"I… I'm not blushing." Maker, why was Anders teasing him?

"But you are a virgin."

"Is that a problem?"

Anders smiled, leaning down to kiss him. "No. But it explains why you're so nervous." He sighed and leaned against him. "I'll stay. But I'd like to move into your bedroom. It's cold in the guest wing."

"It's nearly winter," Hawke replied, hugging him closely. "Do… you want me to…"

Anders pressed against him, rolling his hips. "It's been a long time since I've had physical contact. The darkspawn don't count, you know."

"You had Ser Pounce-a-lot."

Anders gave him a look. "Hawke. Don't be a pervert."

"I didn't mean-!" Hawke scowled as Anders laughed.

"You're so easy to rile up." He kissed him gently. "So, will I be moving into your room?"

Hawke considered. His mother would have something to say. She'd been hinting about introducing him to eligible young noblewomen. For whatever reason, she never seemed to accept his lack of interest in women the way his father had. Malcolm never made him feel uncomfortable about it, whereas Leandra always seemed to hold out hope that he'd change his mind. And he loved his mother, but it was technically _his_ estate, and he was an adult. If he wanted Anders in his bed, he should be able to have that.

There would be an argument, he knew. But Anders was worth it.

"Yes. But you have to stay with me and not move in with Karl."

Anders grinned. "I think I like using your jealousy to my advantage. I promise."

Hawke wondered if he'd just been manipulated, but as Anders kissed him again, he realized he didn't much care.


	14. Chapter 14

His mother did not approve. She discovered them a few weeks after the fact, not bothering to knock as she entered Hawke's bedroom early one day. Fortunately he and Anders had just been sleeping, albeit half-nakedly, and not engaged in any type of morning sex, which Anders seemed to be fond of. Hawke for his part had not been ready for anything much more than what they'd done, and Anders seemed to delight in teaching him how to use his mouth and hands. It seemed so surreal to Hawke, so domestic. He didn't even mind when Ser Pounce-a-lot curled up on his pillow just above his head to sleep.

Leandra didn't say anything, simply left that morning without waking either of them. Hawke was just lucky that Anders was out when she brought it up, as the discussion escalated very quickly into an argument. She thought he ought to be looking to marry a noblewoman. He very vehemently stated that he was happy with Anders. When it was clear she wasn't going to back down on her stance, he left, grabbing up his sword and shield and slammed the door. A few minutes later, he heard Bethany hurrying behind him.

"Garrett! Garrett, for Andraste's sake, wait!"

He stopped. His anger wasn't with his little sister, after all. "I'm going to meet Anders for lunch." 

That hadn't been the initial plan, but he needed to see him, if only to calm down. His mother hadn't been the only thing to upset him in the last few weeks, even if she'd been the catalyst for his outburst. Between templars, Qunari, the viscount making requests of him, and everyone needing his help with his inability to say no, things had become rather overwhelming very quickly.

"I'll come with you," she said, slipping her arm around his. "You shouldn't take what mother says too seriously. She's simply got her heart set on a million grandbabies."

"She has you for that. She doesn't need me."

"I'm not saying that she's right. And I like Anders, I do. He reminds me a little bit of father in a way."

Hawke frowned. That was not exactly what he'd had in mind when he got involved with Anders. "That's a little… no. Bethany, no."

She laughed. "Not like that. Just very headstrong. Always making bad jokes. Very sweet. You don't think so?"

"Personally I'd rather not compare our father to my… my…"

"Luuuuv-er," Bethany said, dragging the syllables out.

Hawke huffed. "You're as bad as Isabela. You need to stop consorting with her. She's turning you into a mini-her."

Bethany grinned and they walked together to Darktown. Anders had found a wide open space and, once the doors had been repaired, turned it into a sort of meeting place-slash-clinic for refugees and those who couldn't afford the Chantry's services. It was particularly busy this afternoon, and Bethany didn't hesitate, immediately moving to help the next person waiting for assistance. Hawke set aside his sword and shield, frowning at the dozen or so people there in various states of distress.

"Bethany! Oh thank the Maker you're here," Anders said, handing her a bundle of linens. "Can you dress the burn on the third cot? Hawke! Make yourself useful and help me clean this stab wound. Standing around being useless…" He muttered and disappeared behind a partition.

Hawke followed, rolling up his sleeves. The man lying on the cot looked as if he'd taken a dagger to the thigh. He watched Anders heat up a basin of water and accepted the washrag. In his life he'd cleaned a lot of wounds, and it was easy enough to assist Anders in this.

"So what brings you down to see me?" Anders asked. "Stop squirming," he said to the man, as his palms filled with a white-blue light.

Hawke felt the thrum of magic, sensitive to it was he was from his templar training. No matter whose magic it was, Bethany's, Merrill's or Anders', he always found himself a little drawn to it. It felt like a warm breeze, but inside him, and he could never describe it properly without sounding a bit foolish. He winced as the man cried out, and Anders frowned slightly as he pulled the wound closed and healed it. When he lifted his hands, there was no trace of the cut, not even a scar.

"You're… very talented," Hawke said. "I've never seen anyone heal like that."

Anders flashed him a quick smile, then helped the man sit up. He declined payment, and waved him out. "I learned a lot in the Deep Roads. My magic… changed. Though I couldn't say how or why. Karl thinks that in order to keep myself from descending into madness, it evolved. He keeps asking me about it. I don't really like talking about it though," he said somewhat candidly.

"Evolved?"

"I don't know what it means either," Anders admitted. "But I can do a lot of things that no other mage can."

Hawke recalled the several times Anders' magic had surprised him. He'd seen a range of magic personally, especially living in Kirkwall. Unfortunately the city seemed rampant with blood mages who were all too eager to use whatever they had in their repertoire in order to try to take him down. He'd never seen one that could randomly set fires with a flick of their wrist, or any of the other things Anders could do. And he seemed to be able to do it all without a staff to focus the magic. He still kept his, of course. The twisting metal, the serpents' heads, and the red gem he'd placed between them.

"I have other patients," Anders said quietly.

"I wanted to talk to you about…"

"This morning?" Anders smiled sadly. "If you're kicking me out, can we do it after the rush?"

"Anders!" Hawke caught him as he made to leave. "I'm not kicking you out. I don't give a damn what my mother thinks. I… really care about you."

Anders patted his cheek. "You could have a normal life without me."

Hawke frowned. "I won't leave you. Not unless you want me to."

"Anders!"

Anders pulled himself from Hawke's grip, responding to Bethany's call. Hawke followed, standing behind him as he worked.

"I'm not going to leave," Hawke said adamantly.

"Good. Hold this."

Hawke took the bloodied cloth from Anders, trying not to gag on the stench of blood and pus. "I mean it. I'm serious. I don't care what my mother says."

Anders looked up at him. "Hawke. You're very sweet. But we should have this conversation when I'm not elbow deep in someone's stomach."

Bethany shook her head, but Hawke could see a slight smile as she handed Anders a pair of forceps.

"Come here," Anders said to him. "Lean down a bit."

Hawke did so, and felt himself blush when Anders kissed his cheek.

"Go help change linens," Anders ordered. "And when we're done here we'll go for lunch."

Hawke, feeling relieved, hurried to obey.


	15. Chapter 15

Hawke knew all men were mortal. Even with his larger than life status, with how much everyone depended on him. All his armor, his shield, his perceived invincibility, and it came down to one fight. Of course, fighting an eight-foot horned giant who had triple the sense of any mindless darkspawn, and certainly wasn't nearly as clumsy as a giant spider wasn't anywhere as easy as fighting your average enemy. Sweat poured down his face, his wounds screamed in agony, his muscles ached. His shield arm was nearly done, catching blow after blow as the Arishok brought his sword down.

"Hawke!"

_Maybe… I shouldn't have agreed to single combat…_

The shield was knocked aside. Hawke saw the broad smirk on the Arishok's lips as he raised his sword again. His arm felt broken; he couldn't lift either sword or shield to defend himself. This was it. Maybe he'd lose consciousness before his death. Anything to stop the pain. He closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate. The room grew silent around him, the gasps and cries of the crowd fading. The floor began to vibrate. Hawke, exhausted and bleeding, struggled to open his eyes against the pain. Everything was silent for a split second.

And then suddenly the Arishok's eyes widened. Twin streams of blood flowed from his nostrils. His body shook as if he'd been struck by a seizure. His arms dropped, sword clanging to the floor, the vibration continued. Suddenly, Hawke was able to hear once again. He heard the screams of the nobles, saw people backing away quickly, frantically, human and Qunari alike. Hawke couldn't fathom why until the Arishok stumbled and fell to his knees. His skin bubbled and boiled and started to melt from his face. He shook harder, mouth opened in an 'O' of surprise, and a moment later, there was a terrible cracking sound as he exploded from the inside out.

Hawke managed to turn away, but felt the chunks of flesh, the spray of blood, the shrapnel of bone clanging off his plate armor. The gore was thick in his hair, and the smell was overwhelmingly coppery and sweet. He felt a wave of nausea pass over him and was determined not to vomit in front of those still in the throne room. From the corner, he heard a very familiar voice.

"HOORAY for Hawke! He saved us all!"

_Anders._

He looked up, heaving now as the crowd parted. Anders was there along with his sister and their other friends. Anders was nudging them, clapping for Hawke, and they seemed to get the point. Bethany was looking at Anders wide-eyed and even Varric, who'd grown somewhat fond of the mage, stepped back. But they were clapping. The nobles joined in and the doors opened suddenly, Knight-Commander Meredith hurrying in with her templars. She surveyed the scene, a surprised look on her face.

"Serah Hawke saved us!" a nobleman cried.

Anders was moving forward, pulling Hawke to his feet, sending a wash of invisible healing magic through him, relieving the worst of the pain. The blood and other viscera didn't seem to bother him as he pressed his lips to Hawke's ear and whispered, "Never underestimate crowd mentality, hero."

Hawke was too stunned to ask him what he'd done, what kind of spell that was. He'd seen crushing prisons and entropic mind magic, watched Merrill use blood magic and perform rituals, but never had he ever seen anything like that. Had Anders' magic evolved that drastically? He reached up with a plated hand and squeezed some of the gore from his hair, choking a bit on the stench. 

Meredith eyed him with a piercing stare. "It seems that Kirkwall has a new Champion."

The crowd cheered for him, and he felt Anders touch the inside of his elbow, one of the few areas not covered in plate metal. He looked at his smiling face and felt dizzy, confused. Meredith was barking orders, templars ushering the nobles from the keep. Hawke looked to Varric, who was shaking his head slowly, looking down at what was left of the Arishok. And when the keep was clear aside from Meredith, the First Enchanter, and Hawke's friends, she finally addressed him.

"I am not an idiot, Hawke," she said coolly. "I recognize magic when I see it." She looked from Hawke to Bethany.

Hawke moved in front of Bethany, pushing his sister behind him. "The city is saved, Knight-Commander. Isn't that enough?"

"No. Too long have I looked the other way when reports hit my desk that you've been harboring apostates. I've brushed it aside because you've done this city more good than ill. And if the nobility want to herald you as a hero, I cannot stop them."

 _Not without damaging your own position,_ Hawke thought.

"Someone must pay for this."

"This magic," Orsino said, kneeling down to look at a chunk of flesh and bone. "I would say it was blood magic, but I've never seen anything like it."

"Who is responsible?" Meredith asked, keeping her tone even.

Hawke flexed his fists. None of his friends would turn on Anders, he knew that. Not even Fenris, who expressed his displeasure at having to work with apostates on more than on occasion. He had too much respect for Hawke to do that. Hawke opened his mouth to tell Meredith to back off when Anders stepped forward.

"I did it."

"Anders!"

Anders looked at Hawke and shrugged. "I'll be fine."

How could he say that? Hawke took him by the shoulder, pulling him out of earshot of Meredith. "Anders, they're going to take you to the Gallows!" he hissed. "What if they make you tranquil?"

Anders looked at him, face impassive for a moment before it broke into a grin. He leaned forward and kissed him soundly. "I'll be fine. Tell Karl. And take care of Ser Pounce-a-lot for me. I'll be back before you know it."

"Anders!"

Anders turned back to Meredith and held out his hands, wrists together. "Be gentle with me."

Meredith sneered and gestured to one of her templars. He stepped forward and clapped manacles around Anders' wrists.

"Remember me fondly!" Anders called to the others as they dragged him out.

"Now, Champion," Meredith said, "perhaps you should return to your estate while we deal with the aftermath of your… victory."

Hawke was about to argue, but Varric nudged him hard. Angry but knowing that it was futile, even dangerous to go toe-to-toe with Meredith here and now, he went, keeping a protective hand on the small of Bethany's back as they left.

"Did you see that?" Merrill whispered to Fenris. "Did you see what he-"

"Quiet," Fenris hissed.

Hawke was still in a bit of a daze when they separated at the foot of the stairs. Bethany said his goodbyes for him and Hawke vaguely heard Varric promise to come by in the morning to see them both.

"Garrett, are you okay?" Bethany asked, pulling him toward the estate.

Once inside, she locked the door and when Bodahn stopped in the doorway, seeing Hawke covered in blood, she quickly requested a bath be filled. Bodahn nodded and left as fast as he appeared and Bethany started unbuckling the plate armor. Hawke let her.

"Did you… have you ever seen magic that could do that?" Hawke asked, already knowing the answer. "He gave himself up. For me."

"Garrett, he did perform that magic though."

"That doesn't mean he deserves to be imprisoned!" He frowned. "Sorry," he said, when she flinched. "I've just… I didn't realize, I guess, how powerful he is. Or what he could do." It was terrifying. What if Anders decided that he didn't care for them anymore? Or if one his arguments with Fenris got out of hand? Would he turn that magic on one of them?

"Do… you think they'd make him tranquil?" Bethany asked, frowning as she stacked his armor in the foyer. Bodahn would take care of it before the morning. "Or… or experiment on him?"

Hawke scowled. "I'm going to take a bath, then I'm going to see Karl to see if he can provide any insight. And you," he added, "will stay here. I don't need Meredith deciding she's going to round you up as well."

"Don't treat me like I'm a child!"

"Please," Hawke urged. "Just for the night."

"And what happens if you get hurt? How would I know?"

"I'm just going to Darktown, Bethany. I… Look, we can talk about it later. I really need to wash up." His hair was starting to solidify.

She crossed her arms but sighed, stepping aside to let him go. Hawke gently gripped her shoulder, kissed her forehead, and headed off to clean up before making the trek to see Karl and decide what the next steps would be.


	16. Chapter 16

Hawke took the exit through the wine cellar, wanting to avoid being seen on the streets. Though clean now, he still felt shaken. In all his years of fighting, of taking odd jobs, of being in the army, of facing darkspawn, he'd never seen anything like what Anders had done. The Arishok's skin peeling from his flesh would surely haunt his nightmares for a long time. But Anders hadn't done it out of anger or malice. Hawke had truly been in trouble, about to die. And while Anders had always expressed the use of some odd magic – mutated magic, to hear it described – it had never been anything evil. Was Anders even capable of that? He hoped Karl would have answers.

He descended a half-hidden staircase and knocked on a rickety wooden door. An eye-level slot opened, then closed, then the sound of a bolt being removed before the door opened. Karl, his beard and hair shorter from last Hawke saw him but still just as grey, stood with a somewhat bemused expression on his face.

"Hawke. You don't normally come to call unless Anders is here. Which he isn't," he added. "Is this about the Qunari attack? We're all full up on hiding places."

Hawke scowled. He wasn't sure if Karl meant to infer he was looking for a place to hide, but that's what it sounded like. "No. The attack is over. The Arishok is dead. Anders is in the Gallows."

"What?!"

"He… he killed the Arishok. But the city believes I did. And the Knight-Commander knew it wasn't me because of the magic Anders used-"

"Damn bloody fool," Karl muttered. "Come in. Shut the door."

Hawke stepped inside a small room lit by a single candle. There was nothing except a crate and another door that led elsewhere. He shut the front door and followed Karl into the next room. If he hadn't known he was in Darktown, he would've assumed otherwise. The hall, though low-ceilinged, was quite large with two fireplaces, a rather nice dining table and a rug. Knitted tapestries hung on the walls, and the furniture seemed almost new. Anyone could have easily assumed it was a room in a dwarven noble's house with the decorations and the feeling of comfort it gave. Several people who'd been sitting at the table sipping soup looked up. Hawke was glad he stopped for a bath first. Coming in covered in blood and viscera would not be an ideal first impression.

"Why is he in the Gallows? Why did you allow Meredith to take him?"

"I didn't _allow_ her to do anything!" Hawke snapped. "Anders took the fall himself. Meredith knew there was no way I could've done… Maker's breath, he-" Hawke lowered his voice and said through gritted teeth, "-he blew up the Arishok from the inside out."

Karl considered this a moment, arms crossed, frowning. "Then we have a problem."

"Oh, do you think?" Hawke said acidly, ignoring the glare. He'd always had a passing caution for Karl, though he did approve of the mage underground even if he'd been kept at arm's length. Sure they would use his money, his cellars. Hawke didn't mind in the least, but he had wanted to _do_ something. And if he was being honest with himself, he was jealous of all the time that Anders spent with him.

"We have to get him. Now."

"How? It's the middle of the night and I don't think Meredith's going to so easily let go of-"

"I think Anders is embodying the spirit one of the original magisters of Tevinter."

Hawke gaped at this news. "What? How is that possible?"

Karl picked up a staff from the corner before turning to one of the women seated at the table. "I need you to look after the others. The children are asleep. We shouldn't see any more come in tonight. If… you don't hear from me by tomorrow afternoon, assume the worst. Look after the clinic."

The woman nodded and Karl took Hawke by the elbow, leading him back outside into Darktown.

"Did you ever ask him what happened to him down in the Deep Roads?"

Hawke frowned as he was led through the winding streets of the Undercity. "No. He never seemed like he wanted to talk about it."

"I have. He said he was visited in his dreams by something. Something that reminded him of the Architect. When I asked who that was, he shut down, stopped talked to me. It took me days to get any more information from him. I wrote to some colleagues I still trust. Filtered the letters through a fake name and had them delivered to the Chantry to appear innocent. The information I received was… disturbing. The Architect is a sentient darkspawn, one that can speak and think on its own. That's not corrupted, not entirely, one that can ignore the call of the old gods."

Hawke winced at the smell as they descended into the sewers. Karl lit the tip of his staff; rats scurried underfoot and out of the way as they walked.

"I think what Anders was seeing in his dreams wasn't a darkspawn, but a corrupt magister. A somniari."

"But… all the old Tevinter magisters, they must be dead by now. Stories or not, that happened thousands of years ago."

"Scholars believe that your body, while it deteriorates, the mind never does. Your soul continues on."

"Like when you die you go to the Maker's side."

"Something like that, though there are those that don't. Where do they go?"

Hawke frowned. He'd never been a very religious man, always somewhat anti-Chantry. "I never gave it much thought."

"There are some that believe we go to the Fade. Keeping that in mind, if Anders is hosting an ancient Tevinter magister within him, he is volatile."

"That's… that's a good word for it," Hawke said, recalling Anders' mood swings.

"He was always an exceptionally gifted child. When he came to the tower, he far surpassed the other apprentices, but he was more interested in leaving than learning. With good cause," Karl added before Hawke could say anything. "You know I don't hold with the Circle's views. The templars tell us it's for our own good, but nothing could be further from the truth. True, there are those who are too scared or frightened or perhaps not even strong enough to withstand the temptations of a demon's deal. However, that number is much less than the Chantry would have you believe. I've seen apprentices pass their Harrowing that I never thought in a million years would be able to withstand it. But they did. The Chantry simply doesn't give us enough credit. And to be raised in an environment where you're meant to live in constant fear, not only of yourself but the others around you, other mages who could fall, of the templars as well. It's not healthy. Tell me, Hawke, your sister. She's been an apostate her entire life. Has she ever felt a demon's call?"

"She's… she's had dreams. But my father taught her how to fight them, how to decline their offer, how to be careful."

"And your friend Merrill."

"She was taught by the Keeper of her clan. But she's a blood mage!"

Karl sighed. "Yes. She is. But she's also not inherently dangerous, is she? Granted, every time she uses that blood magic, she's allowing the demon closer, and she will eventually see the folly of her actions – you must be there to help her."

"Of course." Hawke sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to, but it was always a possibility with demons, after all.

"I don't know what happened to Anders. He won't speak about it in detail. I'm not sure anything even did happen. If this is just his latent ability finally coming to fruition." Karl gripped his staff a bit more tightly. "The passageway is up ahead. Lyrium smugglers built these tunnels. It's our way into the Gallows."

Hawke took the lead, sword drawn, shield on his arm. The passageways were thankfully empty as they moved up several sets of stone steps. The stench of the tunnels and the sewers began to fade, and Hawke realized they were now under the Gallows. 

A sudden explosion, a burst of heat, and a triumphant laugh set him running, Karl close behind. He didn't stop, kicking open the door at the end of the hall. At the last minute he turned, covering his face with the crook his arm, feeling the burning heat, the stench of cooked flesh filling his nostrils.

"Anders!" Karl cried out.

Looking almost jovial, standing amidst a dozen corpses, all in templar gear, was Anders. He turned toward them and grinned.

"Hawke. Karl. I was wondering when you'd show up. I never did think of myself as a damsel in distress though. Shall we go?"

He kicked the head of a templar, which easily detached itself from the neck and rolled a few feet before it stopped.

"Stinks in here," Anders added.

Hawke watched open-mouthed as Anders strolled casually out, back through the passage from where they'd come.


	17. Chapter 17

He was waiting. Of course, so was Anders, but Anders seemed completely at ease. He was sitting on the floor of the library, flicking a scarf idly for Ser Pounce-a-lot to chase, encouraging him with a cooing voice. Hawke's eyes were on him, but he wasn't truly watching. After he'd gotten Anders home, Karl insisted on staying the night as well in a guest room, and Anders merely curled up in Hawke's arms, claiming he was too tired to do much else. In the morning, they'd breakfasted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Karl had asked Anders what he was planning on doing.

_"I'm going to free every mage in Thedas, Karl."_

The response was so matter-of-fact, and Anders seemed disinclined to elaborate when Karl asked for further clarification. So they ate in relative silence and retired to the library. Karl was leaning up against a window, looking out, waiting. They knew it would come, they just weren't sure when. When Anders didn't show up for roll call or morning breakfast or however they took attendance in the Gallows, they would immediately look to Hawke. And Hawke wasn't sure what to do. He'd sent Bethany to Fenris's mansion and had Bodahn take word to Merrill to be careful. When Meredith came – and she would – it would be himself, Karl and Anders to face her.

"You're just the cutest little pretty kitty, aren't you?" Anders asked Ser Pounce-a-lot, tying the scarf loosely around his neck.

Ser Pounce-a-lot rolled onto his back, kicking the scarf with his back legs while he gripped it with his paws. Anders tugged at the scarf idly before looking up to Hawke.

"You look so worried."

"Meredith is coming. She's likely going to bring a _lot_ of templars with her."

"Well. What did you think was going to happen?" Anders asked.

"How can you be so calm about this?"

"They're coming," Karl said, moving away from the window. He took a breath. "They're just down the street."

"How many?" Hawke asked, getting to his feet. He left his plate armor off and was starting to regret it a little now.

"More than a dozen."

Hawke led the way into the foyer, Anders carrying Ser Pounce-a-lot in his arms, cuddled up to his chest. Karl hovered in the door, staff in hand, and waited. There was a pounding of a gauntleted fist upon the front door. Taking a breath, filled with trepidation, Hawke opened it. Knight-Commander Meredith stood on the threshold, her captain right behind her. It happened instantly, she raised a hand and Hawke was knocked off his feet. The smite took him by surprise, otherwise he would've held up against it.

"Serah Hawke, you are hereby-"

"Ser Pounce-a-lot doesn't like you," Anders said, cutting her off.

The foyer was quickly filling with templars, two immediately seizing Karl by the arms, his staff clattering to the floor. Anders looked over at him, then down to Hawke, then back to Meredith.

"You don't want to hurt my friends."

Meredith glared. "Listen to me, _mage_."

Anders held up Ser Pounce-a-lot and spoke, in the high-pitched voice. "No! You listen, _templar_."

Hawke wasn't sure if he felt embarrassed or proud of the fact that Anders had brought the activity to a screeching halt by pretending to be his cat.

"Hawke are you okay?" Anders asked, as Hawke got slowly to his feet.

"I'm fine."

Anders turned back to look at Karl again. "Karl. Are they hurting you?"

"I might bruise," Karl said, wincing as the two templars holding him jerked him a bit. "But I'm fine."

Anders narrowed his eyes. "Let my friend go."

Meredith scowled. "You are in no position to-"

Anders raised a hand, one finger extended, then another. He flicked his wrist, and Hawke heard two consecutive _pops_ and turned quickly to see both templars who'd been holding Karl fall to their knees, their heads crushed like grapes.

"Next time, you should listen," Anders said calmly.

"That's right," he said, holding Ser Pounce-a-lot in front of him, voice raised. "When Anders says something, you should listen!"

There was a moment of stunned silence as eyes fell upon the two dead templars.

"This… this is!! Arrest him!" Meredith cried, pointing at Anders.

But none of her templars moved to do so. Knight-Captain Cullen in fact took a step back. Hawke saw him whisper something to the others. He thought it was a command for a retreat, which would have been smart, however in the next second there was a wave of power and Hawke faltered. Karl fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

"Was it a silence?" Anders asked, head tilted. He held out his hand, a ball of crackling energy appearing in his palm. He dropped Ser Pounce-a-lot, who bounded over to Karl and started licking his face. "I guess it was," Anders continued, lifting his other palm. More electricity joined the first. "Because usually my lightning is purple. You've made it white."

Hawke wasn't sure whether to laugh or not as several templars turned tail and fled, the Knight-Captain included. Meredith withdrew her sword, but Anders threw both palms forward, the balls of electricity catching her on her plate cuirass. She felt to the carpet, convulsing, screaming in pain.

"Anders!" Hawke yelled. "Anders! Stop!"

Anders looked back at him, pouting slightly. "She hurt you. And Karl. Why should I?"

"Give… give her a quick death, then. Don't… Oh Maker." He swore, turning from the sight as Meredith started to cook inside her armor.

Anders sighed and rolled his eyes but flicked his hand as if he was swatting a fly. The electricity stopped and Meredith lay still, slain. The few templars that were left were backing away, holding their swords loosely at their sides, but at a complete loss as what to do. Karl got shakily to his feet and stumbled forward, gripping Anders' shoulder.

"What… magic is that?"

Anders shrugged. "You were sort of right I guess." He walked over to Meredith and toed the corpse, frowning before looking up to the other templars. "You should take her with you. And maybe send for the Grand Cleric. We have to discuss what's going on in the Gallows. You should all be ashamed of yourselves."

No one seemed to want to approach Anders or the corpse. Hawke stepped forward, taking his arm and pulled him back through the foyer and into the library, Karl following. The dangerous mage safely in hand, the templars removed the body of their Knight-Commander as well as the two of their fallen comrades. Hawke pressed Anders into a seat and looked down at him. Ser Pounce-a-lot hopped deftly up into Anders' lap, turning in a circle before lying down, tail curled around himself, end flicking idly.

"Anders. What is going on? How are you doing this?" Hawke asked, looking at Karl, who was trying in vain to wipe the blood from his face. Hawke took pity, handing him a handkerchief.

"I met something. Someone. In the Fade. When I was in the Deep Roads. I think I was dying. They offered me power. I don't… I don't know what it was or who it was," Anders admitted.

"Oh Anders, you didn't," Karl breathed.

"Of course I didn't," Anders snapped. "Do you think I'm that weak? I would never accept an offer from anything in the Fade, demon or otherwise."

"So how…" Hawke asked, not sure yet if he should be terrified of the man sitting in front of him who had just casually murdered three people in his foyer and was now discussing it as easily as the weather.

"Oh. I killed it. The demon. Magister. Thing. Whatever it was. And I took its power."

"You… wait, how is that even possible?" Hawke asked, looking to Karl, who was gaping now, open-mouthed at Anders.

"Why didn't say this before?" Karl asked. "When we discussed it."

Anders shrugged. "I didn't really remember. But I do know. And there were others. Something like a dozen in all."

"And you just… killed them and absorbed their magic and took it into you?" Hawke asked, absolutely astonished.

"Pretty much, I think. I really don't understand it. But it helped me survive. I mean, I can touch raw lyrium without dying. I thought that was a nice perk. Making my own potions." Anders smiled, gently petting Ser Pounce-a-lot, who purred.

"Anders, you can't just… you can't… I don't…"

Karl cleared his throat. "Are you going to kill the Grand Cleric?"

"Not unless she threatens me or my friends," Anders said easily. "Or if she doesn't listen to my demands."

"And what are your demands?" Hawke asked carefully.

Anders looked at him and sighed long-sufferingly. "Hawke. We've been over this." And when Hawke shook his head a little in disbelief, Anders rolled his eyes. "He's so thick, sometimes, Karl. Thank the Maker he's got a great ass."

Karl pinched the bridge of his nose.

Anders looked back at Hawke, smiling a bit as he crossed his legs, pulling Ser Pounce-a-lot to his chest. "I want the one thing that anyone like me would want. Freedom for all the mages in Thedas."


	18. Chapter 18

Politics, Hawke thought, were a very tricky thing. He stood behind the couch, hand on Anders' shoulder, his lover's hand covering his own. Karl changed and washed up, standing next to Hawke now, and Bodahn had fetched the others. Bethany sat next to Anders, Merrill on his other side. Hawke thought it was fitting, the three mages looking rather regal. Fenris and Isabela were leaning against the far wall, the former looking a bit unnerved and somewhat irritated while the latter wore a smirk, arms crossed. Varric had settled in an armchair, book and pen in hand. 

Hawke never hosted someone as distinguished as the Grand Cleric before in his estate. She sat across from Anders, legs crossed, hands folded on her knee. Behind her stood Sebastian Vael, someone with whom Hawke was remotely acquainted. He'd helped the man gain revenge on the Flint Company mercenaries for murdering his family in Starkhaven, and knew the man was the de facto leader of the city now. A prince. But also a Chantry brother, and someone Anders was eyeing with a healthy amount of disdain. There were also a handful of templars, including Knight-Captain Cullen who was ashen-faced and looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else but there.

"You have murdered the Knight-Commander and several templars and now you sit here and make demands of me."

Hawke felt Anders squeeze his hand as the Grand Cleric spoke.

"Your Chantry has been subjugating my kind for hundreds of years," Anders said calmly. "Plucking children from their homes, stealing them away from their families."

"In order to help them, yes," Elthina said. "The Circles exist-"

"The Circles are no better than a prison. I would see them dissolved."

"You cannot arbitrarily decide-" Sebastian spoke.

"Can't I?" Anders asked, turning his gaze upon Sebastian now. "It seems like neither you nor Her Grace is in a position to deny me my one wish. Honestly, I only killed those templars because they were threatening me. I've never so much as laid a finger on a single Kirkwall templar until last night. And Ser Alrik – the one I dispatched of in the tunnels under the Gallows – threatened to rape me. Do you condone rape, Your Grace?"

Elthina frowned. "No, of course not-"

"Then you agree that he had to be stopped."

"I don't think that-"

"If you know there is an injustice, yet you do nothing to stop it, does that not make you as guilty?" Anders postulated.

"Her Grace certainly didn't know-" Sebastian began.

Anders laughed. Hawk gripped his hand as he continued, laughing harder now. Bethany touched his knee, and Anders shook his head, waving her off.

"The things that the Chantry doesn't know could fill the Waking Sea."

Karl cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should address the issues at hand."

"Right," Anders said, finally letting go of Hawke's hand to lean forward. "I want the mages in the Gallows set free. Any templars with charges brought against them will be looked into immediately by the City Guard. No more raids on mages' families, and mages will be free to use magic in the city. So long as they're not hurting anyone," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"The Divine will not-"

"Oh," said Anders, eyes leveled at Elthina, "I plan on going to the Divine very, very soon."

The silence in the room was deafening. Hawke gripped both Anders' shoulders now and looked down as Anders glanced up at him.

"What about it, love? A trip to Orlais sound nice this time of year?"

Hawke swallowed and nodded, torn between anticipation and anxiety, and the strange need to protect his lover. Which was just crazy, considering that Anders continually proved that he could more than handle himself. He wouldn't let Anders go to Orlais alone, if only to make sure he didn't inadvertently start a war. Or kill the Divine. Or both.

"I will leave Karl in charge of things here. Of course the nobles can vote on their own viscount, but I'd like to see him replaced as First Enchanter…"

Karl's eyebrows raised in surprised. "Anders?"

Anders looked back at him, grinning widely. "You were the best teacher in the Ferelden Circle, Karl, and you know it. And the mage apprentices will still need to be taught. They just don't need to be locked up. Wouldn't you agree, Your Grace?" he asked, looking back at her.

It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, her face impassive. Hawke realized she had to understand though that she was in no position to bargain. And Anders wasn't exactly asking for anything too lavish. No golden throne to sit upon, no deaths of every templar. Just simple freedom.

"It's not my intention to turn the Free Marches into another Tevinter Imperium."

From behind him, Fenris made a noise. Anders closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood. 

Hawke raised a hand quickly. "Anders, it's-"

Anders calmly picked up Ser Pounce-a-lot and hurled him at Fenris. There was a cry from the cat, from Fenris, and claws sank into lyrium-marked skin before Ser Pounce-a-lot ran off.

"You're insane!" Fenris snarled, and Isabela had to grab his arm to hold him back.

"And you're a bigot! I guess we're a matched pair."

"What does that even mean?!"

Hawke grabbed Anders as he vaulted over the couch, catching him around the waist and holding him back. He supposed he should've been thankful that Anders momentarily forgot he could toss spells and squish heads with a flick of the wrist. His animosity toward Fenris was great, but they never usually escalated beyond arguing.

"Stop! Stop it!" Hawke cried, pulling Anders back.

He stilled, turning into Hawke's chest as Fenris calmed down, Isabela looking at the scratches which in actuality weren't all that bad. Hawke gently rubbed Anders' back, soothing him.

"Stupid elf," Anders muttered.

Hawke crooked a finger under Anders' chin and kissed him gently. "It's all right."

"I _don't_ want this to turn into another Imperium. Which is why… which is why I want to put Fenris in charge of the templars."

Several people in the room, Fenris included, expressed their surprise at the sentiment. Anders turned to Fenris, still leaning against Hawke.

"That way if either side steps out of line, you can deal with it. But… but everyone deserves their freedom. You know it better than anyone, don't you?"

Fenris frowned, looking to Hawke as he often did for guidance. Hawke nodded.

"I… I suppose…" Fenris started.

"Good!" Anders said, and reached out, patting Fenris on the arm before turning back to the Grand Cleric.

Fenris looked at Hawke, wide-eyed and slightly confused. Hawke shrugged. It wasn't the worst idea he'd ever heard, and at this point, unless Anders started proposing that mages were superior to everyone, he was willing to let him have whatever he wanted. Before Anders could speak however, Ser Pounce-a-lot returned, awkwardly carrying a bundle of papers in his mouth. He dropped them at Elthina's feet.

"Oh. My manifesto. Good thinking, Ser Pounce-a-lot." Anders bent over and cuddled the cat close to his chest. "Who's a pretty kitty? And so smart, too!"

Elthina frowned but picked the papers up. "More of your demands?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Trust me, Your Grace, it's going to be better for everyone this way. But! We have to pack. We're going to Orlais. I leave you in the capable hands of my friends while Hawke and I go make the Divine see reason. And when I get back, I expect this place to be tip-top shape! Isn't that right, Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

Hawke felt the twinge of secondhand embarrassment he always did when Anders spoke for his cat.

"Better be in tippy toppy shape!"

"Right. Off you go then."

Hawke gestured to the door when it was clear the Grand Cleric and her entourage were too stunned to move. Sebastian cleared his throat and helped Elthina out of her seat, and Knight-Captain Cullen led the way out. When the room was empty of Chantry officials and templars, Anders looked at Hawke, grinning.

"Did I do well?"

Hawke drew him into a hug, and caught Bethany's eye. She was beaming.

"Yes," Hawke whispered against his hair. "You did. But… let's… let's keep it as peaceful as we can."

"I've never killed a templar that wasn't trying to hurt me," Anders said, hands on Hawke's chest. "Or my friends. It's not my fault if they don't listen. Or try to kick me in the head."

"You trust me to tell you when to hurt them?"

Anders looked up at him. "You're concerned because we're heading into templar central. Hawke, I'm not stupid. I won't kill every templar I see. I mean, I'm not a madman!"

Fenris snorted. Hawke's grip on Anders tightened, and Anders shook his head.

"I'm not."

"I know," Hawke said gently. "But you do trust me, right?"

Anders smiled, leaned in and kissed him soundly. Hawke was only vaguely aware of the others in the room as Anders' tongue slipped past his lips. Long fingers threaded into his beard, then up to grip his ears as Anders held him in place. Even a polite clearing of the throat from Karl wasn't enough to break them apart. Bethany giggled, and Hawke finally had to pull back, slightly breathless.

"Yes," Anders said, kissing him chastely. "I trust you."

"Well," Hawke sighed. "Well then. Let's… go to Orlais."


	19. Epilogue

It was a full week before they were able to get a carriage to Orlais. The changes were implemented immediately, the mages given a speech by Karl who quickly replaced Orsino as First Enchanter. Hawke was pleased to see most of the mages reunited with their families and took Anders' teasing in stride when he teared up, watching it happen. Those that had family elsewhere in Thedas were given leave to write to them. Hawke came to the realization that the Grand Cleric had probably written the Divine to inform her of the changes and knew there would be resistance in Orlais. But he'd asked Anders to trust him and in turn he trusted Anders implicitly. They would make it.

Knight-Commander Fenris fell somewhat easily into his role, implementing an attendance check for both templars and mages, and worked closely with Karl to turn the Gallows into a school. He hardly even bristled when a few of the mages went to him personally to thank him. Bethany was overjoyed, accepting a position as a senior enchantress in order to help train the child apprentices who took to her almost immediately. Hawke was bolstered by the apparently seamless transition. Of course there were a few nobles who dissented, but the rumor of what Anders could do kept anyone from voicing their opinions too loudly. A viscount, it was decided, would be voted upon by the end of the season.

Bethany hugged Hawke tightly, then Anders as the carriage was loaded up. They would be making the trip alone, Anders insisting that everyone else stay in Kirkwall, that they were definitely needed more there, assuring them that they would be fine.

"You all worry too much."

Bethany kissed his cheek, and Anders blushed a bit. "You saved my life," she said, taking his hands. "And now you're going to save the lives of all mages in Thedas."

"That… well, that's the plan," Anders said, slightly flustered. He bent down and brushed his lips against Bethany's knuckles. "Even though we don't need it, you can wish us well."

"I will!" she promised.

Anders followed Hawke into the carriage, Ser Pounce-a-lot hopping up into the seat across from them. The door shut and the driver snapped the reins, the horses pulling the carriage off on a trundle. Hawke took Anders firmly by the hand.

"You're going to make me jealous of my little sister," he teased.

Anders leaned against him. "Don't worry. I prefer them big and dumb."

"…Thanks."

Anders laughed. "I'm teasing, you oaf."

Hawke kissed the top of his head. It was another few minutes before he spoke again. "Anders? When we talk to Divine Justinia… could you maybe… not speak for Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

"All right."

"Really?" Hawke was expecting an argument.

"Of course," Anders said, yawning. He pulled his legs up and sank down, head in Hawke's lap. "He can speak for himself."

Hawke frowned, looking at the cat who was licking a paw. He stopped mid-lick, looked at Hawke.

"He can?"

"I most certainly can," Ser Pounce-a-lot said suddenly, his voice deep and reverberating.

Hawke gaped.

"Staring's rude," Anders informed him with another yawn. "Wake me when we get to Cumberland."

Ser Pounce-a-lot bared his fangs in what Hawke hoped was a grin, then resumed cleaning his paw. Hawke shook his head, wondering why anything surprised him anymore. Life with Anders, after all, was a true adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one done! *collapses* I have one more I'm working on through edits and then I'll be putting it up starting Sunday, then it's going to be one-shots and little things while I work on a Very. Large. Epic. Well. Something like that. 10k words in so far and I'm barely done with chapter 2. ^_^
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys. I'm so happy you all seemed to love crazy!Anders so much. He was a lot of fun to write. I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks I'm pretty funny. >.>
> 
> *much love!*


End file.
